


feeding kink trash

by brites



Category: Free!, Haikyuu!!, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Burping, Emetophilia, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Multi, Stuffing, Vomiting, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:17:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 55,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6335833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brites/pseuds/brites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Literally these are all just random kink drabbles, because there is a serious lack of kinky stuff in a lot of sports anime fandoms - surprisingly.  Mostly Stuffing/Feeding stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. button popping/seam ripping - shigino kisumi

**Author's Note:**

> I literally made this account just to post kinky oneshots that I write -- because if you're like me at all, you've gone looking for feedist stuff in the HQ/Free!/KNB fandoms just to be let down. I'm pretty ashamed of a lot of this stuff, but I want to have a place to put these anyway and I figure I might as well let other people get some enjoyment out of them as well.
> 
> Once again, don't look at me, and I apologize in advance.

Kisumi forced back a moan, allowing his head to drop against the back of his chair. His lips carried the overwhelming taste of raspberry cake; tongue flickering out to lick a smear of frosting from the side of his mouth, the teen let out a contented sigh.

He didn’t overeat often -- he was a basketball player, after all, and while he needed his energy he also needed to be able to actually move (something he wasn’t quite sure he was capable of at the moment). Still, he couldn’t deny the pleasure he got from ever so infrequently stuffing his stomach past its capacity.

There was only a few bites of cake left; after eating so much of it, his stomach felt heavy and full past the point of satisfaction. Running his hand over smooth skin, he enjoyed the rounded, taut feeling under his fingers; his own touch sent a chill up his spine, and unconsciously he leaned back just a bit more in his seat. Leaning back only seemed to make his stomach heavier, allowing it to press down on him like a weight coming to rest upon his middle.

He was a bit short of breath; beneath his hand, he felt his stomach gurgle, and he stifled a burp that seemed to creep up on him. He had probably passed his limit more than a few bites ago, but Kisumi was determined; he had just a bit more shortcake left, and he was going to finish it.

His t-shirt had already slid up, exposing the rounded bulge of his belly. Gut straining against his jeans, Kisumi shifted uncomfortably and let out a soft huff as he readjusted himself before reaching over and taking the last bit of cake in his hand. His eyes lingered on the final mouthful, flickering back and forth in slight trepidation before he boldly brought his hand to his mouth.

The cake felt thick and heavy in his mouth; it would feel worse in his belly, but he fought it down anyway. This was the most he had ever eaten in one sitting, and as soon as he swallowed and could feel the final bit of cake travelling down his throat he knew he’d made a mistake. He had never stuffed himself this much before, so well past the point of comfort that he wasn’t sure he could even walk. He inhaled a shaky breath, and a wet belch clipped out; blushing, even though he knew no one else was around, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and eyed the remnants of pink frosting that coated his fingers.

“Man…” His words came out as a half-whine, half-sigh; he shuddered, massaging his stomach delicately with his clean hand. “I overdid it… a bit…” He could still feel the cake coating his throat, lingering in his mouth; his stomach felt so full that he was sure he was going to burst, and at once he found himself feeling quite sick. He needed to get the taste out of his mouth, to wash all that cake down with something smooth… his eyes caught on the mostly-full water bottle resting on the table next to him, and he hastily grabbed it.

Maybe he was a bit overzealous in chugging several huge mouthfuls of water; it wasn’t as if he thought his stomach could handle it, but he was so desperate to rid himself of that taste. As it turned out, he’d made a mistake.

As soon as he swallowed, he heard the sudden sound of fabric ripping; eyes going wide, he glanced down at his belly just in time to see the seam of his jeans split and the button promptly pop off and go flying across the room. There was a soft clink as it connected with his mirror and fell to the ground.  
For a moment, Kisumi simply stared and tried to comprehend; his brain felt sluggish, far too tired and well-fed to encourage any form of thinking, but he was coherent enough to realize he’d just ruined his favorite pair of jeans.

His head dropped back, and this time he really did moan -- out of exasperation, mostly. That definitely wouldn’t be easy to explain to his mom, who always got so uptight about his clothes. He burped again and winced as he felt the fabric around his gut strain just a bit more.

Next time he did this, he’d be smarter about how much he ate -- and he’d remember not to wear his favorite jeans.


	2. stuffing - nanase haruka

In as long as Makoto had known Haru, he'd never been a person who frequently over indulged.

There were two things Makoto suspected his best friend loved more than life- swimming and mackerel. Even so, Haru was usually pretty reasonable- with his eating habits, at least. That's why Makoto couldn't help but be surprised, the night when Nagisa and Rei failed to show up at Haru's house.

"They're really not coming?" asked Haru, sitting down at the table across from his friend. "I made dinner for them and everything..."

"Rei got sick at the last minute. And of course Nagisa wanted to stay by his side and make sure he got better." Makoto shrugged, picking up his fork. "It's alright. You made a good dinner for us, anyway."

Haru looked pensive. He let out a sigh, staring at the food laid out on the table. "I hate seeing good mackerel go to waste," he murmured.

And that was what started it. It had surprised Makoto to notice that Haru was eating more than usual, but he hadn't really thought much of it at the time- he was probably just hungry, maybe he forgot to eat lunch today, it's happened before. But when he, feeling quite full and satisfied, laid down his utensils and pushed his plate away, he couldn't help but notice that Haru was still eating- and didn't show any signs of stopping soon. His face was set in a determined frown as he devoured piece by piece of mackerel.

"Umm... Haru?" Makoto spoke up gently. "Haven't you had enough?"

Haru, too focused on the plate in front of him, didn't reply and instead simply shook his head.

That was how it went for another twenty minutes at least; Haru continued to devour the mackerel while Makoto watched on in awe and increasing worry. He had never seen Haru overeat like this ever since they were kids; on that occasion, he'd wound up getting a terrible stomachache and eventually threw up for his trouble. Makoto swallowed nervously, watching his friend work- he really ought to do something before Haru wound up regretting his dinner.

"Haru, I think that's enough."

"No," came Haru's blunt reply, before he focused all of his attention on the dish again. Makoto silently cursed his stubbornness.

"You're going to make yourself sick!"

"No I'm not," Haru retorted, and Makoto stifled a sigh as he rolled his eyes and leaned back to watch. Surely Haru would come to his senses eventually... wouldn't he?

At last- but not before every piece of mackerel had vanished- Haru's fork came down to rest on the table, and he too pushed his plate away. Eyes widening slightly, Makoto studied his friend; Haru looked pale, slightly dazed, but satisfied with his apparent victory.

"Haru?" ventured Makoto. "Do you feel... alright?"

Haru didn't speak, not quite trusting himself to, instead simply choosing to nod at his friend. The dark haired boy let out a shuddering sigh, just managing to stifle a burp as he leaned back a bit against the wall, his hand coming to rest over his stomach. Even the slight contact made him wince slightly, as his stomach felt taut under his hand- he couldn’t help but feel as if he’d swallowed a lead weight and it was now just sitting in his stomach, weighing him down and causing the warning tremors of what Haru was sure would grow to be some uncomfortable cramps to shoot through his abdomen.

Makoto quirked an eyebrow, but chose to say nothing, instead holding up the two controllers he had been turning over in his hands for almost half an hour. "Okay then," he remarked, keeping his voice and tone purposefully light. "Let's play!"

The two boys set to work on their video game with enthusiasm. Usually Makoto was better at this game- and video games in general- than Haru, so his easy victory didn't surprise him. It was only when he glanced over at Haru again that he noticed how almost alarmingly paper-white his skin was.

Makoto frowned, studying his friend for a few moments. Haru wasn't looking at him; instead his eyes were closed, and he seemed to be focusing on taking several shuddering breaths. Overall, Haruka really didn't look well. Makoto frowned as he crawled across the carpet to his friend's side. 

"Haru," he said gently, laying a tentative hand on his back, "you don't look alright. I think you might have overeaten." _'Might have,'_ in this case, was a relative term.

Haru cringed at his friend's touch, shaking his head slightly; even this small action seemed to cause him great discomfort. "'M fine," he muttered, his words coming out slightly slurred from in between gritted teeth. "Don't worry about me."

Makoto made a "tsk" noise as his eyes wandered down to Haru's stomach. There his frown only deepened; Haru's normally flat, muscular stomach now bulged out a fair bit, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal a portion of white skin. Clearly he had eaten too much, and now he was paying the price; his bloated, overstuffed stomach certainly didn't look too comfortable, and the way he was sitting only made it more obvious. 

Makoto shook his head; he had warned him, but stubborn Haru, in his hell-bent quest not to let any mackerel go to waste, hadn't listened.

Haru seemed to try to be avoiding touching his stomach as much as possible, no doubt a result of the discomfort he had to be feeling; even though Makoto wanted to scold his friend for his foolishness (because really, he should take better care of himself) he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the suffering teen. Frowning slightly and barely even thinking about the consequences his actions might bring, he reached out and laid a hand on Haru’s distended stomach.

Almost immediately the darker haired boy let out a gasp, pulling away from his friend’s touch. “Why’d you do that?” he asked sharply, his eyes accusing and… was that embarrassment that flickered across Haru’s face for a moment? Makoto blinked, the tips of his ears turning red as his eyes drifted towards his lap.

“Sorry… you just looked uncomfortable. I thought I could help.”

Haru swallowed, his eyes fixed intently on his friend; slowly, his gaze drifted down to his stomach, and then back to Makoto.

“You… think you could help?”

Makoto nodded, mildly surprised as Haru suddenly shifted forward again, closer to him. Even the slight movement made him wince, and he heard the other boy let out a soft groan. Makoto pursed his lips.

“That really doesn’t feel good, does it?” he asked, tentatively laying a hand on Haru’s stomach. The skin felt hard and stuffed beneath his fingers, and almost as soon as he touched it a whine slipped out of Haruka’s mouth in reply. Makoto’s touch seemed to cramp his stomach even more, and for a moment Haru felt dizzy from the pain. With a gentle sigh, Makoto’s fingers began to massage back and forth, running circles over Haru’s taut skin. This action seemed to feel good to the usually-stoic boy, because Haru let out a sigh and curled closer into his friend.

“Makoto,” he breathed, wrapping his own arms around his middle only to have them nudged away by Makoto’s steady hands. He frowned. “But- but I-” He had to cut himself off to avoid letting out a belch, grinding his teeth to ignore the pain. Still, Makoto’s hands were cool and relentless. Another wave of pain racked his body.

"Mmm... hurts, Mako," he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut as his brow furrowed. Makoto stroked his stomach soothingly again, laying his chin on Haru's shoulder.

"I know," he murmured softly. "It's okay."

As he continued to massage, Haru’s stomach let out soft gurgles and groans to punctuate just how much stress it was under; with each cramp Haru’s body tensed, but Makoto’s hands seemed to ease out the pains and make it slightly more bearable for him. Every so often he would let out a slight burp, unable to hold them back; Makoto couldn’t help but notice that every time he did this a slight flash of relief flickered over his face. Gradually, he took to gently patting Haru’s back with one hand as well.

“W-what are you doing?”

“You need to let the air out. It will make you feel better.”

“I don’t- _buUURp!”_ Haru’s sentence was cut off suddenly by a sick belch, and almost immediately his face colored a deep crimson. “S-Sorry,” he stammered, squeezing his eyes shut. In spite of himself, Makoto couldn’t help but chuckle softly- Haru-chan just looked so cute when he was embarrassed.

He continued his gentle rhythm of patting and rubbing, and slowly he noticed Haru’s eyelids begin to droop. The pains in his stomach were gradually beginning to lessen, being replaced by a pressing lethargy that left him barely able to lift his head to look at Makoto. The green eyed boy raised his eyebrows, glancing down at his friend. “Tired?”

“Mmm…” was the only reply he received. Chuckling softly, Makoto kept his eyes trained on Haru’s face as he sank deeper and deeper down into sleep, at last dropping off entirely and becoming a dead weight on Makoto’s lap.

He let out a sigh, finally ceasing his stroking as he pulled his hands away from the sleeping freestyle swimmer. Quite obviously, with Haru now asleep on top of him, Makoto wasn’t free to go anywhere anytime soon. 

His lips quirked up in a small smile; he really didn’t mind sleeping oddly tonight, even if his back wound up hurting in the morning. “Good night, Haru-chan,” he whispered softly, brushing a lock of jet black hair back from his friend’s face before leaning back against the wall and allowing his own eyes to close as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next one will be a Haikyuu WG drabble!


	3. stuffing/belly rubs - tsukishima kei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's play the Writing With A High Fever Game
> 
> Here we gooooooo
> 
> (aka why this story might not even be a little bit coherent because I'm not)

Kei eyed the mountain of food placed on the plate in front of him with disdain. “You have got to be kidding.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please? _Tsukki_.”

“No.”

He turned away stubbornly, forcing himself to resist the thrall of Yamaguchi’s puppy dog eyes. It has never been a trick Kei had been able to master, even as a child; but whenever Yamaguchi wanted his way, he knew that a surefire method was widening his eyes, making himself look wholly pathetic, and appealing to Kei’s inner (very deeply buried) good person.

It was a superpower, that's what it was. The world's worst superpower. It was manipulative, and it was _wrong_.

Kei’s eyes involuntarily drifted over to Yamaguchi.

“Fine,” he outright snarled, reaching forward and seizing the fork from the table as Yamaguchi beamed.

Home made meals were not really a thing in Yamaguchi’s home. With two divorced parents and living with his mother (Yamaguchi-san was a writer; and, while a lovely woman, Kei knew for a fact that she was so scatterbrained that she'd actually managed to misplace her son on numerous occasions before he had even learned to walk), either Yamaguchi ate at his best friend’s house, or he got take-out. Yamaguchi-San actually cooking anything was a rarity; but even the impossible can happen, apparently, and Kei had been invited for dinner.

There was one slight problem: Yamaguchi-San had made gyoza.

Tadashi couldn't eat gyoza, because garlic made him break out in rashes which tended to last for days.

It wasn't Yamaguchi-san’s fault, not really (actually, it was, but Kei knew better than to think that Yamaguchi would blame his mother). It also wasn't her fault that an unexpected call from her publisher had caused her to run out on dinner early, leaving the two teenagers alone.

The real problem was figuring out what to do with the food.

“Don't look so grumpy,” Yamaguchi urged, his tone laced with a hint of apology. “You like gyoza.”

Kei did like gyoza. He did not, however, like it half as much when he was about to consume enough gyoza to feed three people, and then some.

But Yamaguchi _couldn't_ let his mother down when she'd tried so hard to prepare a nice meal for him; he was one of those baffling people with an inherent drive to make people happy. Kei could never understand it. But Yamaguchi’s puppy eyes were a force of their own; he was annoying when he was sad, anyway, and Kei wanted to at least spare himself that.

So he picked up his fork, and began to eat.

The gyoza tasted rich, slightly tart, and very filling; Yamaguchi-san was a good cook. Kei enjoyed the first plate, which went down easily and filled his mouth with flavor. Even into the second plate he was doing fine, and it actually occurred to him that maybe this idea hadn't been as awful as he'd thought.

That was before he felt his stomach begin to strain; his fork moved slower, chewing began to become a reluctant action. The gyoza was filling, alright. It filled his mouth, drowned his tastebuds, packed his stomach. But the start of the third plate he felt sick, and Yamaguchi was watching in something like awe.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Kei shot him a look, but didn't stop chewing to reply.

At last, the third plate was gone. Through sheer force of will, Kei was ready to push himself for more. Luckily, Yamaguchi intervened.

“That's really _really_ okay Tsukki, you don't have to eat anymore! It's fine!”

Kei leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. Yamaguchi, perceptive enough to realize that the last thing his friend would want to see right now was more gyoza, made short work of cleaning the plates.

When he got back from the kitchen, Kei had pulled himself up from his chair and managed to stumble over the the couch. He lay there now, prone, with both hands resting across his chest like the typical depiction of an Egyptian mummy. He did not move, even when Yamaguchi approached the couch and settled himself on the floor next to it.

“You know, you're so much nicer than you let on.”

Kei burped. Somehow he still managed to sound spiteful.

“You're crueler than you let on. Sadistic. You're a sadist. _Oh god,_ I'm gonna be sick.”

He tilted slightly sideways off the couch, as if preparing for just that; but all that came out was another ill belch, escaping through the hand clamped over his mouth. Yamaguchi clicked his tongue in sympathy.

“Poor Tsukki,” he crooned; gently, he helped ease Kei into a sitting position, still reclined back against the couch. Kei was unusually docile, allowing the other boy to adjust him; he only winced when his stomach was accidentally jostled. After that Yamaguchi seemed a bit lost. After a moment of hesitation, he placed his hands on the other boy’s stomach; Kei squirmed.

“Don't touch it, I'm trying not to touch it. I feel too full.”

Yamaguchi’s brow furrowed; in spite of Kei’s protests, he ran his hands over the taut skin of his stomach again. “You need to massage the cramps out, or else it's going to really hurt.”

“It _already_ really hurts!” he hissed back, before falling against the couch again with a grimace. As the wave of pain shot through his stomach, he couldn't completely stop a whimper from escaping.

Yamaguchi didn't say a word, for which Kei was grateful; he simply continued his ministrations, massaging Kei’s belly in even circles, feeling around to locate the worst of the bloating.

At first it was more than uncomfortable; gradually, however, Kei began to feel relief. A few more belches left him feeling somewhat lighter, and Yamaguchi’s hands gained confidence in their massage. The pain in his gut began to subside slightly, a pressing lethargy replacing it and soon leaving him barely able to lift his head.

“You look tired, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi observed; Kei wondered if he thought he was a rocket scientist.

Instead of any sarcastic remarks, however, a simple “I am,” slipped out of his mouth. Yamaguchi hummed again, shifting up onto the couch next to him and gently tilting Kei so that his head was laying in his lap.

“You're okay,” he whispered, and Kei's tongue felt too heavy to say any more. Yamaguchi’s hands were cool and steady, his lap was secure, and it was easy to drift off to sleep.

Before he fell away entirely, he didn't miss the muttered _“thank you”_ that brushed against his eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be a WG one and I have that written but I changed my mind
> 
> I'm going to get around to a few commenters requests next!


	4. weight gain/denial - tsukishima kei

“You look different, Tsukki.”

There’s _that_ tone to Yamaguchi’s voice -- the one that he learned a long time ago to be wary of. He hates that tone. Usually, his best friend is one of the most stupidly nice people on the planet; but when _that_ tone creeps into his voice, it’s clear that he both finds something really amusing and is going to have his fun teasing someone about it. Usually, that someone winds up being Kei. He thinks that Yamaguchi must have picked up his slight sadistic streak from him, and he regrets it.

“Don’t know what you mean,” he retorts, not looking up from his homework.

He would forever deny making the high-pitched pterodactyl screech that followed -- and Yamaguchi can’t prove anything, because he has no evidence. But considering that he almost did manage to take down his dinosaur lamp while falling out of his chair, it’s a bit difficult to deny that he, essentially, flipped the hell out. Yamaguchi blinks down at him in surprise for a moment before grinning, looking _absolutely delighted_ with the chaos he'd just caused.

“You touched my stomach,” Kei remarks hollowly. Not just touched -- Yamaguchi had reached over and _pinched_ it, taking delight in squeezing the soft layer of pudge that Kei hadn’t even noticed existed until now.

Yamaguchi just snickers. With no small amount of indignation, Kei pulls himself off from the floor and towers once more over his friend, glaring down at him. Any lesser man might have been intimidated; but Yamaguchi is just too used to him. Times like this, Kei realizes, are why he doesn’t like having friends.

“You’re cuter now, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi teases lightly, inching back across the bed nonetheless as if anticipating his friend to make a sudden move. A few extra pounds or not, Kei can still easily get Yamaguchi in a headlock if he feels like it, and Yamaguchi knows it. “You’re… softer.”

“I am not _soft_ ,” Kei retorts automatically, a slight sharpness to his tone giving away his pure _indignation_ at the statement. If there is anything he is not and has never been, it's soft. “What are you even talking about?”

“You…” Yamaguchi trails off, shrugging; golden eyes narrow as Kei hones in on him. “You ate all that shortcake last weekend at Akiteru’s birthday party, and it’s been hard to work out as much with all the snow… it’s probably just winter weight. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” he shoots back automatically; but his hands have subconsciously strayed to his gut, and he now fondles the surprising layer of pudge there. The tightness of his abs has faded into light chub, and a slight stomach now sticks out from the bottom of his tight t-shirt. He hadn’t even noticed; and in spite of himself, he realizes he’s blushing.

“I’m not fat,” he all but hisses, and Yamaguchi shrugs again.

“Don’t worry, Tsukki. You’re a beanpole anyway, so maybe it’s a good look on --”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Yamaguchi. Don’t.”

“I’m not being mean!”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.” Kei decides to return to the very safe option of ignoring Yamaguchi and focusing all of his brainpower on his quadratic equations; however, his mind still lingers on the newfound softness to his gut, and suddenly he envisions himself different -- no longer all sharp angles and defined cheekbones, but softer.

He isn’t soft. He’s never been soft.

He needs to run more often, he decides with a slight frown down at his paper, rain and snow be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't like heavy wg, but chubby is always great!


	5. stuffing/belly rubs - aomine daiki

Kagami Taiga had made a mistake.

“Ugh. I fucking hate you, Ba- _uuuuUUUUURP_ \- Bakagami.”

From where he was positioned on his couch, one hand resting over his very swollen stomach, Aomine scrunched his eyes shut. Kagami shot the blue haired teen a dark glare, fighting the urge to take his last piece of pizza and hurl it at his face. (It certainly would have been no less than what Aomine deserved, but Kagami was against the waste of good food.)

“You said you could outeat me,” Kagami remarked from around a mouthful of pizza. Aomine cracked a single eye open, gaze burning.

“Six pizzas. You ate fucking six. What are you, a tank?”

“Tanks don't eat, stupid,” muttered Kagami, rolling his eyes. If he were capable of moving, he guessed that Aomine would have swung at him. “Besides, you only ate five.”

Five large pizzas -- and that was enough, apparently, for Aomine, who was now laying on the couch and looking like he regretted all his life’s choices. From how much his gut had bloated out past the waistband of his shorts, the basketball player looked as if someone had shoved a pillow beneath his tight tank top; the look was surprisingly flattering on him.

Curiously, Kagami reached out and poked Aomine’s stomach with a single finger; immediately another belch slipped from the boy’s mouth, before Aomine snarled. 

“Watch it! How the hell are you still eating?”

Kagami shrugged. “I'm still hungry.”

Aomine’s face was going a funny shade of red that reminded Kagami of Akashi’s hair, and he looked very ready to come back with another sharp retort; instead, he only let out a low groan as another cramp shot through his abdomen, before gripping his stomach with both hands and sighing.

Kagami stared at this for a long moment; Aomine’s hand ran over his own taut belly, long fingers sliding gracefully over dark skin. Every so often the other player would moan, belch, or let out some other discomforted noise that suggested he'd stuffed himself well past the point of satisfaction. There was almost something… erotic in it, in a way that made Kagami’s mouth suddenly feel very moist.

“Oi,” Aomine said again, fixing a dark glare on him. “Don't just stand there. If you're done stuffing your face, help me out.”

Kagami blinked.

“My stomach, dumbass. Just… here.” And just like that, without even a hint of warning, Aomine had reached out and placed Kagami’s hand on his rounded stomach. The other boy was very still as Aomine guided his hand back and forth, massaging even circles over the tight flesh.

Aomine’s head fell back; a sigh escaped his lips. “Ooh yeah… like that. Feels good.”

Kagami only realized that he was massaging on his own when one of Aomine’s hands came up to his mouth, muffling another burp. Eyes wide, he continued to rub Aomine’s stomach, even as digestion gurgled under his palm.

“I could still beat you,” Aomine muttered after a moment, “on a good day. I ate a sandwich Satsuki made me last week. My stomach’s still recovering. I'm not really as weak as this.”

Kagami fought the urge to snort, drinking in the sight of Aomine stretched out on the couch, his belly full and round. “Of course not,” he muttered, shaking his head in bemusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been meaning to do something AoKaga for a while, actually. The next KNB one I do will have Kise in it, and I've got a lot of really good ideas...


	6. weight gain/denial - mikoshiba momotarou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request from one of my commenters! Thanks to all of you for your lovely reviews, and I really hope you're getting some enjoyment out of the stuff I write.

"I -- I'm not fat."

The owlish blinking of golden eyes was making this way harder than it ought to be. Ai winced, turning his head so that he didn't have to look at Momotarou directly; if he did, he knew that he would break. Those innocent eyes would rip his soul from his body, crush it into dust, and leave him hollow with the knowledge that he was an absolute monster.

The worst thing about his kouhai, he'd realized long ago, was that saying anything harsh to him was like kicking a puppy in the face. He didn't know how Rin-senpai had the strength; even after being roommates with him for the better part of six months, Ai still found it impossible to be mean to Momotarou.

Maybe he really was a bleeding heart after all. He sighed, crossing his arms and forcing himself to look back at the redhead.

“I never _said_ you were fat, Momo-kun. I just said that you… should maybe buy a different speedo. One that would fit better.”

The younger boy pouted, staring down at the speedo clutched in his hands. After numerous attempts, it had become clear that it just would no longer fit. “But I like this speedo. I don't wanna wear another one.”

“Momo-kun, your body is _changing_  --”

“I'm not fat!” Momo repeated, bouncing up and down in his own indignation. This only made the pudge that had begun to develop at his stomach bounce; when Ai glanced at it pointedly, the younger swimmer seemed to freeze.

“I--” Momo glanced down at himself, realization dawning for apparently the first time. As his hands slowly drifted to pinch his no-longer toned stomach, his face fell, and a harsh blush crept over his cheeks. Ai felt like a monster.

It wasn't as if it was Momo’s fault, not really. He had been recovering from a badly sprained ankle the past few weeks, and lack of exercise combined with his normal atrocious diet had taken a toll on his normally trim swimmer’s body. It hadn't been really obvious until he's tried to squeeze into his old speedos and found -- to his own surprise, more than anyone else's -- that they no longer fit.

“N- Nitori-senpai?” Momo sounded so confused; Ai could feel guilt twisting and clawing in his chest. He winced slightly as Momo pinched his own body again, looking baffled.

“It isn't your fault, Momo-kun,” Ai said slowly as the redhead lifted his head to look at him. “I'm sure that weight will melt off as soon as you start swimming again. Besides, there's nothing wrong with having a little extra weight!”

“Of course not… I think curvy girls are really cute… but…” Momo looked baffled; then distressed. “This means I can't wear my super awesome amazing speedo that Rin-senpai picked out for me!”

Ai came to two eye-opening realizations in the same moment; for one, Momo must have really grown to like the speedos, even after questioning Rin-senpai’s ( _impeccable_ ) tastes. Also, Momotarou’s priorities were fantastically screwed up.

“Besides, I might not look good to girls like this. Do you think they'll still want to go out with me even if I don't have rock-hard abs anymore? What if --” Momo let out an agonized gasp. “Nitori-senpai, what if Gou-san won't talk to me anymore?”

Ai suddenly found himself feeling very offended on the behalf of his senpai’s sister. He may not have known the Iwatobi manager well, but he was certain that Gou was not that type of girl. “I don't think Gou-san is half as judgmental as that! Besides, you never had enough muscles to be her type anyw-- what are you doing, Momo-kun?"

Momotarou had sat down on the edge of his bed, scrunching himself forward; he was now busy pinching the belly that spilled over the waistband of his one fitting speedo, thoroughly fascinated and also not listening to Ai in the slightest.

“It's kinda cool,” he remarked lightly, and Ai slapped a hand to his forehead. Dealing with Momotarou could burn calories all on its own.


	7. walking with stuffed belly - tsukishima kei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Rule 63 Tsukkiyama. Tsukishima is quickly becoming my favorite to write for, which is no surprise since I'm writing a huge multichapter starring him on my other account.
> 
> On another note, is anyone surprised that there isn't a lot of kink fic for Tokyo Ghoul? I'm not at all confident with the fandom or I'd write some myself, but I'd kill to see something with stuffed Tsukiyama, the canonical glutton, or Rize (and if I ever saw anything for Nishiki I would have a heart attack and die on the spot because apparently I have a thing for meganes).

It would be easy to get annoyed at Kei for overeating during the family dinner, surrounded by her best friend’s assorted family members. If Tadashi was being honest with herself, however, the food was the most interesting part about dinner with her grandmother and numerous aunts, uncles, and cousins; it had been an act of charity that Kei had agreed to accompany her to her family reunion for the weekend anyway. Tadashi doubted that she had meant to eat so much anyway; it was easier than answering awkward questions along the lines of “how’s school going?” and “have you got a boyfriend yet?” Leaving those delightful inquiries to Tadashi, Kei had elected to stuff her face instead.

This decision had clearly backfired on her; Tadashi watched now, chin pillowed in her hands, as Kei leaned back in her seat at the dinner table and struggled to keep down any hiccups and the occasional belch that threatened to burble from her throat. Kei's mouth was pressed in a thin, tight line; sitting next to her, Tadashi had a clear view of the way her best friend’s stomach was distended, curving out from her tight fitting t-shirt and resting on her thighs.

Most of the young people had gotten up from the table by now, leaving the adults to talk; Tadashi and Kei, however, remained seated. Kei was carefully expressionless, but Tadashi caught the flash of carefully masked desperation when golden eyes flickered towards her. A young cousin ran past the table, shrieking, and Kei’s face contorted with a scowl.

Taking pity on her friend -- mostly out of fear that Kei could blow an internal circuit -- Tadashi made the snap decision to rescue her.

“Actually,” she announced, abruptly standing from the table, “I’m going upstairs to the guest bedrooms now. Come with me, Tsukki?”

The adults paid her little mind, waving the two teens off absently; Tadashi didn’t miss the relief clear on Kei’s face as she turned towards her. Getting up, however, proved easier in theory than practice; Kei winced as she rose to her feet, her stomach automatically weighing her down. The movement caused her to let out a quiet belch she wasn’t entirely able to stifle, and Tadashi cast a surreptitious glance around before seizing her friend’s arm and beginning to lead her out of the dining room.

“You can rest in the guest rooms,” she muttered, leading Kei forward; just the fact that her friend was following behind her, not even complaining about being guided along, was a testament to exactly how she had to be feeling. Kei didn’t seem to trust herself to talk, even as they almost knocked over a young cousin making their way towards the stairs.

By the time they did reach the stairs, well out of view of the adults, Kei was gripping her stomach with both hands; her gaze drifted up the imposing staircase, eyes widening slightly. She let out a soft hiccup just at the sight of it, and all Tadashi was able to do was pat her friend’s shoulder reassuringly.

“Take it slow,” she encouraged; she could swear that Kei _glared_ at her before starting up the first step. The absolute _nerve_ \-- Tadashi sniffed in indignation. Maybe she ought to have left Kei at the table after all.

Just from the way Kei was walking -- slender hips swaying, slow steps heavy and slightly teetering upon each stair -- it was clear that she was stuffed past her limit. Tadashi followed along behind her, carefully supporting her friend even when they had to stop every three or so steps for Kei to let out another soft hiccup.

Tadashi tried not to comment, knowing how easily her friend got flustered over things such as illness and showing weakness -- she still recalled the sleepover from sixth grade when Kei had refused to tell anyone that she wasn’t feeling well until she’d thrown up all over her futon in the middle of the night. She’d had a fever, as well, and Tadashi’s mother had wound up having to call the Tsukishima parents at two in the morning to inform them that their daughter was ill. After that, Tadashi had learned that when her friend was feeling ill, the best thing to do was take care of her without asking questions.

Kei managed to reach the top of the stairs before jolting with another hiccup, wobbling slightly. Tadashi automatically placed her hands on the small of her friend’s back, bracing her. “Are we almost there?” she grit out, and Tadashi nodded.

“Real soon. I think it’s just somewhere around this corner.”

Kei sighed, nodding, one hand resting on the swell of her stomach; she paused for a second, swaying unsteadily on her feet, before moving forward once more.

“Ugh,” she muttered as her hip knocked against the wall. The hallway was long, lined with family photos, some of people Tadashi didn’t even recognize; she distinctly recognized her own first grade photo, proudly displaying a freckled child in pigtails who was missing both front teeth. Thankfully, upstairs was far less crowded than downstairs. Just being away from other people was already making Kei visibly feel more at ease.

“I’m going to find this guest room and sleep for a week.”

“Don’t do that. My grandmother is always really concerned that people will stop breathing and die if they sleep for too long. Apparently she read about it in some magazine years ago and never got over the fear.”

“That’s -- _hIC!_ Ridiculous.”

Tadashi shook her head, carefully stepping around Kei now in order to lead her down the hallway. “That’s Grandma.”

Kei followed behind her for a couple more paces, the heavy sounds of her footsteps on the wooden floors echoing through the empty hallway. When the footsteps behind her suddenly cut off, Tadashi realized that Kei had stopped; turning, she found her friend doubled over, hand hovering over her bloated stomach. Kei’s face was contorted in pain as she rode out the cramp coursing through her abdomen.

“Just a little bit more, Tsukki, hang on…”

“Ugh… I can’t…” Kei slumped against the wall, clutching her belly and panting heavily. As she began to lower herself to the ground, Tadashi grabbed at her arm and tried to pull her forward. If one of her nosier aunts were to come up the stairs and find Kei sitting in the hallway, there would be no way to disguise their current predicament.

Kei jerked her arm away, glaring; the sharp movement seemed to cause her stomach to ache further, and she winced. “Can’t I just rest?”

“In the guest room,” Tadashi persisted “You can lie down there. Come on.”

The blonde was visibly irritated, fixing Tadashi with a hard glare; eventually, however, her own comfort won out and she heaved herself off the ground once more. She groaned again, the sound cut off by a clipped belch. Automatically a hand flew to her mouth, and her face flushed as she avoided Tadashi’s eye. The freckled girl sighed, leading her down the hallway and around the corner.

When they finally reached the guest room, Tadashi wasn’t sure who was more relieved. Kei made a beeline for the bed, lowering herself down with a huff and immediately curling up on her side with her back to her friend. Tadashi rolled her eyes, resigning herself to spending the rest of the evening putting up with her aunts’ invasive questions.

She was taken aback when a slender arm suddenly reached out for her, fingers grasping at empty air. “Stay,” Kei appealed, a slight whine to her voice that she only even took up when she wasn’t feeling well. “Don’t go yet. Just a little while.”

Tadashi huffed to disguise the laugh threatening to burst out from her, and she slowly stepped across the room until she was standing over the bed. Kei had left just enough room that she was able to curl up next to her easily, only vaguely aware of the threat of rolling right off the side of the bed and having her ass meet the floor in the wrong way.

“You’ll probably go into a food coma in a few minutes anyway,” Tadashi muttered, and Kei didn’t refute the claim. Her hand was rubbing lazily at her belly, and a gentle burp was eased out from her lanky frame. Tadashi’s lips twitched as she studied the bony curves of her best friend’s shoulder blades, rising and falling with her heavy breathing.

“I feel…” Kei paused to hiccup, the act of speaking obviously not agreeing with her. She let out a huff. “Really full.”

“You ate too much.”

“Your family asks too many questions.”

“Which you left me to fend off.”

Kei groaned slightly, bunching her shirt up to reveal the rounded curve of her stomach; Tadashi stared at it a moment, observing as the blonde languidly stroked the skin in circles. Kei’s forehead was lined with sweat, her bangs sticking to her damp skin; the long braid down her back was beginning to look unkept, as it always did when Kei kept it in for too long. Absently, Tadashi’s fingers loosened the hair at the bottom and began to stroke through her friend’s long cornsilk locks.

“You like my hair too much,” Kei muttered, her voice sounding faint. Tadashi hummed agreement, her hands jolting when the blonde hiccuped again.

“Stop moving,” she scolded, and Kei snorted, her hand continuing to massage her stomach evenly.

Sure, Tadashi would probably have to return to her family soon enough. For now though, lying in bed with Kei was peaceful enough on its own.


	8. stuffing/button popping - akashi seijuurou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was brainstorming any sort of possible way to get Akashi in a feeding scenario, but the most plausible I could think of... Bokushi feeding Oreshi. Is it in character? Does Akashi's double-personality thing really work this way? Probably not. Hell if I know. Have a stuffed Akashi anyway.
> 
> The only one who can stuff Akashi is Akashi. Aomine would be proud.

He didn't understand, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to do it. After all, if he couldn't trust his own self, then who could he trust?

The best thing about Rakuzan's dorms had to be the privacy; his own house may have been a fantastic mansion on a hill, but he did not have any freedom there. House staff knew everything that went on in the house, and anything of "significance" was reported to his father. But at school, Seijuurou had the ability to do exactly as he pleased.

For example: if he wanted to go out and buy five whole pounds of greasy fast food, absolutely no one had to know, and no one would stop him.

He had probably reached his limit a while ago, but there was a familiar pulsing in the back of his head that told him he couldn't stop yet. He was the one in control now, but the Other was always there -- pushing, waiting, ready to slip back to the forefront at any moment. Usually, Seijuurou just let him have the helm, handle everything; he didn't open his eyes very much anymore. When he did, he always felt so tired.

But now, with his mouth full of salty French fries and his belly bulging out from the sheer quantity of food he was forcing down, Seijuurou knew that he was the one in control. He was only doing what he was telling himself to do.

His stomach groaned with the pressure, and he found himself gurgling another burp - muffling it behind his hand was unsuccessful. Seijuurou winced and curled up tighter, clutching his own rounded stomach even as he reached out for yet another burger.

It felt like led on his tongue; swallowing it left a sour taste in his mouth and the impression that he was forcing mud down his own throat. But he forged on, reaching out for a handful of fries and swallowing them back as well, ignoring the growing feeling of pressure in his gut as it strained against his button-up shirt.

He was unable to help another belch, and decided to at last give himself a break. Leaning back on his bed, he attempted to ignore the gnawing pressure in the back of his head, that wheedling little voice urging him to eat _more, more, more._ He had already eaten so much - he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so full, so overindulged.

He knew he had to pace himself a bit. He didn't have the time to be sick, so if he wasn't alright first thing tomorrow he would have a whole other host of problems on his hands. But there was something so massively appealing about the... _easiness_ of it all, feeding yourself until you're fit to burst. It was so simple. Seijuurou was fond of simple things, purely because there weren't enough of them in the world.

His stomach let out a loud gurgle and he rested a hand atop it, taking in the solid feeling of roundness beneath his fingertips. His belly felt firm, heat radiating from it; a jolt of discomfort coursed through his body at the touch, but he was able to ignore it in favor of stroking a hand over the curve of his stomach. How fascinating.

Another burp, sharp and short, took him by surprise; he allowed his eyes to slip shut for a moment as he continued his massage, experimentally pressing down on his gut just to see his own reaction. When an unexpected cramp shot through his stomach he drew in a breath, curling in on himself.

 _More. You have to eat more._ His brain was demanding more food, so against literally ever instinct Seijuurou reached out and seized another burger. The good thing about fast food was that it was designed to be eaten _fast;_ Seijuurou was able to force down two more burgers and another carton of fries before the pressure around his middle became far too much.

He looked, frankly, like he had swallowed a basketball; his too-full stomach was fantastically round, pushing against his shirt so tightly that he wasn't sure the buttons would give even if he tried to open them now. The pressure of his clothing on his stomach was painful, and Seijuurou winced as he reached for yet another burger.

It only took one more burger and a few handfuls of fries before the first button popped off. It hit the opposite wall with a clink, and the corner of Seijuurou's mouth quirked up slightly in vague amusement. The rest of the fries sent the rest of the buttons flying after the first rogue, and by this point Seijuurou realized two important things.

One: he no longer had any food left to eat.

Two: he felt full, bloated, and supremely nauseous.

He did his best to stifle a groan as he gripped his belly, shifting onto his side to better make himself comfortable. In this position, belches gurgled from his parted lips before he could stop them; he tried biting down on his lip, but he only burped through his teeth, and he feared his own bite drawing blood. He settled for a hand pressed tight over his mouth, a weak attempt to stop the endless stream of compressed air burbling up in his stomach.

He was pleased with himself, he realized; the Other was no longer a stinging pressure at the back of his head, settling instead as a farmiliar dull ache. Seijuurou didn't know why he'd insisted on this, but as a pressing lethargy began to creep over him, he realized he didn't mind as much as he should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last thing- find me on Tumblr! @ brites.tumblr.com


	9. stuffing/make-outs - kuroko tetsuya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one... got away from me a bit. The original prompt was for Kuroko being stuffed by Kagami + belly rubs. I can definitely say that at some point I just decided to let Kagami do whatever the fuck he wanted, and evidently Kagami is a horny bastard.
> 
> No smut in this one, because I don't write explicit smut, but VERY strong KagaKuro.

It was simple, really. Kagami would try new recipes; and he needed someone to tell him if it was any good or not. Kuroko had just been the one generous enough to agree.

It was convenient for the both of them, really. A lot of people worried about how little Kuroko tended to eat, and often Kagami had too many leftovers from his various kitchen experiments than he knew what to do with. Kagami would get a taste tester, and Kuroko would get a free meal. Everyone could be happy.

The dish for that week was a heavy soup. Kagami had found the recipe online and had been eager to try it out, using his favorite critic to tell him how good it was. Kuroko had been just as eager; for the first three bowls, he'd been more than pleased with the result.

Now, Kagami realized, Kuroko was probably ready to stop. He had eaten a lot already (not nearly enough, Kagami still had nearly half a pot of soup left) and wasn't even trying to hide his discomfort.

Kuroko shifted, one hand resting over the bloated curve of his stomach. A slight grimace crossed his face. “Kagami-kun… I'm full now.”

Kagami grinned crookedly, trying to ignore that nagging feeling of disappointment. “Your stomach capacity is still small as hell.”

Kuroko didn't reply. His gaze lingered on the bowl in Kagami’s hands for a moment, before he moved to push himself into a more comfortable position. The thin boy’s gut was swollen slightly, pushing out from his t-shirt and revealing a pale strip of skin that caught Kagami’s eye no matter how doggedly he tried to divert his attention elsewhere. A tongue flickered out to lick chapped lips; Kagami took a step towards Kuroko as the shadow closed his eyes with a sigh.

“Kuroko... I don't think you're full yet.”

Kuroko’s eyes fluttered open, baffled. “I am. I told you I was finished.”

Kagami knew he was pushing the limits of their… arrangement, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Not when Kuroko looked so good. “I think you can still eat some more.” He thrust the bowl towards Kuroko, trying to look stern. “Drink this.”

Kuroko’s eyes remained locked with his for a long moment; there was a flicker of something imperceptible in cool blue orbs, but slowly Kuroko reached out, tipped the bowl to his lips, and drank down the broth. Kagami studied the subtle bobbing of his throat, trailing a drop of liquid as it made its way down the side of Kuroko’s mouth; the soup vanished all too quickly, and Kuroko pulled back with a huff.

“How full do you feel now?” Kagami asked, laying his hand flat on the other boys stomach. Kuroko hiccuped.

“I'm going to get you some more.”

Kuroko didn't say a word as Kagami went back into the kitchen; when he returned, several rolls and another bowl of soup in hand, he licked his flushed lips and sat up as best he could with his stomach so full on top of him.

Kuroko wordlessly swallowed down the first two rolls, allowing Kagami to observe him with each bite and swallow; when he reached for the bowl of soup, Kagami hesitated.

“No,” the redhead said, and brandished a spoon he had grabbed from the kitchen. “Let me feed you.”

Kuroko’s lips parted willingly as Kagami began to spoon the broth into his mouth; the blue haired boy let out a contented sigh after the first swallow, smiling placidly at Kagami. “Kagami-kun is a very good cook.”

The unexpected compliment had Kagami flushing. “Th-- thanks. Glad you enjoy it.”

Kagami continued to feed Kuroko, spoonful after spoonful vanishing into his mouth. Flushed red lips closed over the silver utensil, and Kagami tried not to focus on how Kuroko’s tongue flickered out to lick the corner of his mouth, or the increasingly dazed expression on his face the more he pushed himself to eat.

Once the soup was gone, Kagami handed Kuroko the second roll; he watched, trying to look stern, as the teen nibbled lazily at it.

“You're slow,” he remarked, and Kuroko’s usually impassive gaze flickered over to him.

“I feel very full, Kagami-kun. I'd really like to stop after this.”

Kagami took in the boy in front of him; belly round and swollen in his lap, face flushed from the exertion of overeating, he looked almost debauched.

“Kuroko,” he muttered, and before the other boy could do so much as raise his head Kagami had leaned in and kissed him. Kuroko’s skin was wonderfully warm as his hands cupped his cheeks; his lips tasted like spices, and Kagami’s eyes were open a crack just to watch Kuroko’s own blue orbs widen automatically before fluttering shut.

“Mmm…” Kuroko hummed gently into the kiss, vibrating against Kagami’s lips. His hand ran through his hair, tangling through auburn strands and leaving the back of Kagami’s head aching slightly from the pressure. If what he'd been feeling before wasn't enough, that did it; with a small groan, his lips moving hungrily against Kuroko’s own, Kagami pushed forward and Kuroko fell onto his back.

“ _Kagami-kun!”_

The words suddenly gasped against his lips had Kagami drawing back, alarmed and confused. It was only then that he realized he had inadvertently been pressing down on top of Kuroko, putting a massive amount of pressure on his full stomach.

Kuroko turned his head, raising a hand to his mouth and muffling a belch against his fist. Kagami’s eyes flickered from the pale skin of Kuroko’s stomach, shirt hiked up around his chest, back to his face once more.

“You…”

Kagami knew how bad he was with words. He only searched for a second before giving up, leaning forward and placing both hands on Kuroko’s rounded stomach. The blue haired boy’s eyes widened slightly at the pressure, and he seemed baffled when Kagami began gently kneading the skin, massaging his tummy.

Close enough to each other, this time it was Kuroko who leaned up and kissed Kagami; the taller teen’s hands continued their massage while Kuroko’s hands caressed his face, relishing the feeling of Kagami’s teeth biting at his lips.

As it turns out, they had _both_ been hungry that day.


	10. unintentional weight gain - sawamura daichi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a Tumblr request. I am so weak for Daisuga you guys

“Daichi, I…”

Daichi looked up immediately, straw slipping from between his lips as his milkshake came to rest on the table once more. Dark eyes blinked owlishly up at his boyfriend, who was leaning against the doorframe and wearing a look on his face that seemed torn between guilty and amused.

“What?” Daichi asked, getting the feeling that he was missing something obvious. Suga quickly shrugged, chuckling lightly in the way he always did when he was trying to figure out the right way to say something.

“I know you said I could practice recipes on you, since we’re roommates now and all – and it’s really nice to have someone to test out what I make.”

Daichi frowned as Suga trailed off. “And? I like it too. You’re getting better in the kitchen every day.”

Compared to him. Whereas Suga, upon entering college and automatically renting an apartment with his boyfriend, had taken it upon himself to learn to cook, Daichi had instead chosen to founder amidst empty ramen containers and cheap-brand sodas. He’d heard of the freshman fifteen, but he didn’t understand how any college student could gain weight when they were barely eating anything. Suga’s cooking had been a godsend to him, lethal as the first few attempts were.

“I just.. you just…” Suga’s eyes glossed over him, and they seemed to linger for a second somewhere around his stomach. Daichi raised an eyebrow, but his boyfriend quickly shook off his fog. Stepping forward, he twined both arms around Daichi’s shoulders and lowered himself to sit on his knees. At the coy look in his eye, Daichi grinned.

“You know you have class in an hour.”

“I know. I just want to be close to you.” Suga leaned in, and Daichi fell back against the couch with the force of their combined weights. Suga’s lips were slightly chapped, warm against his, vaguely sweet tasting in the way Suga always was. The closeness of his body sent endorphins flooding Daichi’s system, a feeling of happiness settling over him like a warm blanket.

Suga teased his lower lip between his teeth before breaking away to quickly whisper, “ Do you regret quitting volleyball?”

Though his mind was otherwise occupied, Daichi considered it. He missed the game, sure – the camaraderie or the team, the feeling of stepping out onto the court, the fresh smell of Air Salonpas, and the ball connecting with his skin. But if he was going to devote himself to his future now, he had to put studying first. He and Suga had both agreed to leave volleyball behind them in college.

“Nah,” he replied, words coasting against Suga’s lips. This must have been the answer he’d wanted; Suga smiled, and pulled Daichi into another kiss. This one was more Daichi kissing his teeth, because he was still grinning, and Daichi huffed out a laugh against his mouth.

They exchanged kisses for a few more minutes, trading secrets with their lips, bartering intimacies through skin contact. Daichi was so caught up in the taste of Suga’s mouth and the silkiness of his hair under his hands that he almost didn’t notice the way Suga was caressing his stomach until they both pulled back for air.

Daichi’s eyes drifted down to where his boyfriend’s hands rested, an eyebrow raising. “Found something you like?”

“It’s new,” Suga muttered, running his hand over the developing pudge of Daichi’s stomach. The former Karasuno captain fought the urge to pull away.

Maybe he hadn’t fallen victim to the freshman fifteen, but Suga’s cooking had been it’s own form of evil; he hadn’t noticed that he was gaining weight until his jeans would barely button up anymore. He’d been avoiding scales since then, but he would guess that he had to weight twenty, maybe even thirty pounds more than he did before entering college. He’d noticed the stomach sticking over the top of his jeans, he’s noticed the love-handles beginning to form; he’d just tried not to think much of it. It was all _Suga’s_ fault, of course – so he had absolutely _no_ reason to be looking at Daichi now as if he’d just given him a rocket ship to the moon.

“It’s not much,” he muttered, even though he knew it sort of was. “I can work it off once I finally get around to going to the gym again.”

“Daichi…” Suga bit down on his lip hard, caressing his boyfriend’s soft stomach again. His lips might have been warm, but Suga had chronic cold hand syndrome; Daichi shuddered. “I realized before that my cooking was making you pack on a few pounds, but I didn’t think much…”

Daichi was tense up to the point where Suga leaned down and tenderly planted a kiss against his belly.

“I don’t mind it,” he said, the words flying out of his mouth automatically. “If you like me this way, I’ll keep it. And I’ll keep eating your cooking.”

Suga’s eyes shone with delight as he looked up again, chin resting on his boyfriend’s belly. “I like it,” he agreed, smiling that gentle smile that made Daichi’s heart twist in all sorts of ways that were not medically advisable. “I really do!”

After a bit more kissing and a bit more teasing, Suga finally left for his morning class. He left the rest of the milkshake he had made on the table, next to a plate of pancakes. _Be Back Soon!_ a note read in his familiar willowy kanji. And then, with a smiley face next to it, his boyfriend had taken care to add _Enjoy!_


	11. embarrassed burping - sawamura daichi/sugawara koushi

The first time Daichi overeats, it’s the night before the first big exams of his college career, and he is buzzing. He powers himself through frantic hours of studying by loading up on as many calorie-laden things he can get his hands on – bottles of sugary soda, a few cupcakes leftover in the their fridge from a recent birthday party, and several entire bags of chips. He eats, he crams, and he tries to imagine a possible alternate universe in which he does not fail his upcoming exams, get kicked out of university, and wind up living on the streets as a peddler of rocks or something equally depressing. By the time it occurs to him that he’s beginning to think like a certain former manager of his, he’s already eaten his way through their entire stock of junk food.

He isn’t sure what’s worse; crashing at three in the morning with a stomachache and a sense of impending doom, or waking Suga up when he – quite literally – crashes to the floor after tripping over a pair of his own sneakers.

Suga sits up and blinks in the light of the dim desk lamp, all bleary eyes and gloriously mussed hair. “Daichi? Are you okay?”

Now he’s not just clutching his stomach, but also his bruised thigh. Daichi gives the pair of sneakers a vindictive kick just because he can, turns to Suga, and opens his mouth to reply–

_“uuuuuuUUURP!”_

For a second, neither of them move. Suga’s sleep-heavy eyes have gone wide, and Daichi is sure his face has turned the approximate shade of a cherry (and is getting darker). His mouth closes with a clink of teeth, and he doesn’t dare open it again.

“Wow. Uhh, wow. Are you okay?” Suga finally asks, leaning forward off the bed with his brow furrowed in concern. Keeping his lips pressed tightly together, Daichi nods and tries to bring himself to meet his roommate/boyfriend’s eyes without shame. It’s a losing battle.

He isn’t sure just what Suga’s thinking, but the slight twitch to his lips suggests he’s fighting the urge to laugh. Taking in the other man sprawled on the floor, he raises an eyebrow. “Did you really fall over?”

It hadn’t been Daichi’s fault – okay, maybe it had, but not entirely. He’d stood up, taken a step or two, and realized that his stomach felt a lot heavier when crammed with junk food than he’d expected it to. Add the shoes on the floor that he hadn’t seen, and he’d overbalanced like an ill-fated Jenga tower. He sighs through his nose, nods again, and tries to reclaim his dignity by pushing himself to his feet again.

Suga doesn’t miss the way he lets out a huff, or grimaces as he clutches his belly. His eyes take in the assortment of chip bags, empty soda bottles, and candy wrappers littering Daichi’s cluttered desk, and his eyes widen in understanding.

“Daichi,” he says, “you idiot.”

“That’s just mean.”

“You gave yourself a stomachache.” Sitting up fully now, Suga looks wide awake, and Daichi can’t escape his accusatory glare.

“Yes,” he admits with a sigh, scratching the back of his head. “Yes, I did.”

The reaction of any normal boyfriend would be to maybe feel a bit annoyed at being awoken in the middle of the night, or exasperated over something so ridiculous. Suga has never been a normal boyfriend. The second he grins, Daichi realizes he isn’t about to be scolded; instead, Suga spreads his arms wide and gestured for him to crawl into bed next to him.

Daichi hesitates automatically, eyeing Suga’s waiting arms with trepidation. “You – I –”

The reason for his tentativeness is obvious. His stomach suddenly gurgles loudly, and his broad shoulders jolt with the force of a suppressed belch. One hand over his mouth, he suddenly wishes they had bothered to invest in a second bed when they’d rented the apartment. He doesn’t want to impose his stuffed, burpy self on Suga when all the other probably wants is to get some sleep.

“Daichi.” There’s a hint of sternness in Suga’s tone. “Bed. Now.”

When Suga sounds that way, you listen if you know what’s good for you. Daichi hesitates a second longer before pulling the covers back and crawling into bed next to Suga. His boyfriend makes a pleased noise, wrapping his arms around him; one hand strokes at his chest, while the other begins to massage his slightly distended stomach.

Daichi’s so used to being the big spoon that he almost forgets how nice it can be sometimes, to just be held by Suga. Ignoring the slight discomfort the comes with being touched so intimately (his situation is more embarrassing than anything else) he unconsciously relaxes into his boyfriend’s embrace.

“You’re an idiot,” Suga amends with a thoughtful little hum against the back of his shoulder, “but a cute one, so that makes it alright.”

When Suga’s hands suddenly press down on his stomach too hard, Daichi isn’t expecting it. A burp bubbles up before he can stop it, the sound hard and clipped as it escapes his mouth. Immediately he goes tense in Suga’s grip.

When Suga doesn’t say anything, it’s Daichi who fills the silence. “Sorry, I – I’m sorry, it’s embarrassing, are you grossed out because I can sleep on the couch–”

“I’m not grossed out,” Suga interrupts, voice level and soothing in the silence. His arms are beseeching, holding Daichi in place and refusing to let him tear himself away when they both know this is more comfortable for both of them. “Don’t leave, Daichi. I’m right here.”

Slowly, Daichi relaxes once more into his boyfriend’s arms. Suga’s hands continue to massage, and when his chin comes to rest on his shoulder Daichi can’t ignore how warm he feels inside.

* * *

 

As soon as they stumble back in through the apartment doors, Suga collapses back onto the couch. Relief is clear on his face, the familiar atmosphere of home comforting. The entire drive back from the restaurant, Suga had been uncharacteristically silent and growing progressively paler. Worried, Daichi had asked more than once if he wanted him to pull over, but Suga had assured him that he wasn’t going to be sick. Now – finally at home, and with Suga making no desperate dashes to the bathroom – Daichi was still just as worried, but chose to take this as a good sign.

“Suga,” he mutters, sitting down on the couch next to him. Immediately his boyfriend leans into him, resting his head snugly against his chest (Suga, as Daichi’s learned by now, gets very clingy when he’s not feeling his best). Gently Daichi reaches down to pull the other man’s shirt up. It’s just as he suspected; the pale skin of Suga’s stomach is distended and curving slightly outwards. His fingers brush over it, and just at the slight touch Suga’s belly lets out a sick gurgle.

Daichi tsks, not hesitating for a minute before fingers begin kneading into the pale skin of his boyfriend’s bloated stomach. “You’re all crampy. I should have known the food we had was no good. It looked funny.”

“The food was fine,” Suga huffs. “Sometimes milk just doesn’t agree with me, I’ll be fine, you don’t need to –” He cuts himself off, pressing his mouth closed tightly; Daichi glances down at him with a raised eyebrow, lips quirking when his boyfriend’s cheeks flare slightly outwards before he seems to swallow the air back down again.

“Sorry,” Suga mutters after a minute, a faint flush on his cheeks. “Burp.”

Daichi’s eyes drift to his boyfriend’s belly, and it occurs to him that he’s probably in a fair amount of pain. The idea that Suga could be embarrassed around him, even after how long they’ve known each other and nearly eight months of officially “being together” is strange – until he remembers the night before exams a few months earlier.

Back then, Suga had been the one to comfort him. Now, as he nuzzles his face into Daichi’s chest, it occurs to Daichi that he has to be the one to reassure Suga.

He’s never been a master with words; he’s never been like Suga, masterfully finding the right thing to say in every situation. So instead he shifts his hand, moving not only to stroke Suga’s stomach but also gently pat his back as well.

A wet belch gurgles up, muffled slightly against Daichi’s chest. When Suga draws back, his eyes are wide and surprised.

“Daichi!” he accuses, and his boyfriend grins slightly.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, Suga. You know that, don’t you?”

Suga studies him for a long moment; lips purse, eyes narrow, and Daichi tries to look as honest as humanly possible. Finally, after what seems like a long moment, Suga sighs and rests his head in it’s previous position again.

“I feel pretty sick,” he admits, and Daichi hums as his hand gently massages a cramp out of his boyfriend’s stomach. “I think… it might help, a lot. If you’re not grossed out…”

“I’m not,” Daichi reassures, and his hand comes down on Suga’s back once more, gently and rhythmically patting. It takes a minute, but Suga lets out a few more burps, soft and sick. When he nuzzles his face against Daichi’s chest he is for a moment worried, but it doesn’t take long to realize that Suga is just using him to help ride out the discomforting nausea that must be washing over him like a tide.

“Daichi, do – _uurp_!”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember that night? When you ate yourself sick?”

“Sure I do.”

“I still think you’re cute.”

“Thank goodness. I was getting worried.”

His boyfriend tilts his head up, nose scrunching slightly as he looks at him. “About what?”

“If I’m not at least half as cute as you, then I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep you around. You might get disinterested in me, and float off to go be adorable with some other guy… who’s just as cute as you are.”

“I don’t want someone as cute as me. Too much competition,” Suga amends, pressing his lips lightly to Daichi’s collarbone. “Just having you around is – _ulp_ – more than enough for me.”

Daichi lets out a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating in his chest and reaching Suga gently. His boyfriend lets out a contented sigh, burping once again as Daichi’s hand comes down lightly between his shoulder blades, and lets his eyes close.

“Let’s stay here for a… little while,” he hums, and Daichi doesn’t have the heart to refuse him (not when he knows that Suga’s only beginning to feel better, not when he knows he can probably carry him into the bedroom later, and not when Suga looks _that_ cute dozing off against his chest).

It might not be a huge step in their relationship – learning to be more comfortable around each other. But when Daichi thinks about it, it seems like a pretty important thing after all.


	12. weight gain - akaashi keiji

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many people are thirsty for chubby akaashi though, like damn
> 
> its okay. bokuto is just as bad, if not worse.

Bokuto Koutarou was a weak man.

Normally, if anyone said this to his face, he’d probably have thrown a fit – incoherent rage, followed by the Darkest Depths of Despair (for Bokuto, anyway – he reached the Darkest Depths of Despair when his favorite cafe ran out of muffins). But, standing in the Fukurodani gym again for the first time since his graduation six months ago, Bokuto found himself fully accepting his own weakness.

This weakness was Akaashi Keiji – or, more specifically, Akaashi Keiji with the _most adorable chubby cheeks he’d ever seen oh my god_.

A lot had changed since Bokuto’s reign as Fukurodani’s ace had come to an end. With the absence of so many of their integral third years the Tokyo powerhouse team felt very different. Akaashi had obviously stepped up to the plate and become a fantastic captain for his team (as if there had ever been any doubt he would); his teammates’ trust in his was obvious, from the way the new first years would appeal to him for help with their serves to his fellow third years’ fond claps on the back and praise for their new captain.

“They’ve been bringing me food,” Akaashi explained with a smile, gesturing to a few of the clustered first and second years practicing receives on one side of the gym. “They say they want to show how grateful they are. Kimura-san has a fantastic lemon cake recipe, and he’s been generous enough to give some of the others cooking lessons. Everyone is making very good progress.”

The words _‘well, clearly’_ danced on the tip of Bokuto’s tongue, but he managed to bite them back. This was an act of extreme self-control on his part; as it was, he couldn’t stop staring at Akaashi. Akaashi’s arms, Akaashi’s waist, Akaashi’s thighs, Akaashi’s everything.

Of all the things that had changed on the Fukurodani team, the greatest change had to have been in Akaashi. Actually, Akaashi’s _body_.

Not that Akaashi’s body hadn’t always been great. Ever since the solemn little freshman had stepped into the gymnasium for the first time, Bokuto had often found himself admiring the defined angles of Akaashi’s face, his sharp bones and slender hips. He had always looked almost frail, in a way that both frightened and exhilarated Bokuto – because not only was Akaashi the opposite of frail, he was also the complete antithesis of the stocky Bokuto himself, in personality as well as appearance.

But it was clear that captaincy had done great things to Akaashi’s physique. Things that made Bokuto’s mouth begin to feel very moist, and had his hands itching to touch Akaashi’s body once, to just have a single chance to run his hands over his newfound curves. It was obvious that the team’s gratitude was paying off, because Akaashi had to be at least thirty pounds heavier than when Bokuto had seen him last, and it showed. His thighs had become wider and more defined; his waist had rounded out; his arms had become more muscular, rounded out by his expert setting and serving. Just looking at him made Bokuto’s head spin a bit, because he looked so different, and so good.

Bokuto lasted throughout almost the entire practice. Almost. He still carried the legacy of being Fukurodani’s legendary ace, and he wanted to show these newbies just what a reputation their team had to live up to now that the former third years were gone.

Then, with fifteen minute before the end of practice, Akaashi jumped into the air to set and his shirt caught upon the air, lifting up slightly to reveal the pale skin of his stomach.

Akaashi’s belly was poking out over the waist of his shorts.

Oh merciful gods, Bokuto was a weak man.

He used the (frail) excuse of needing to check something in the club room, and asked if Akaashi would come with him “to remind him where everything was”. Akaashi knew something was up, but he obliged Bokuto anyway; leaving the team in the capable hands of his vice, he followed his former captain out of the gym and back to the club room.

They had barely shut the door behind them when Bokuto suddenly slammed both of his hands on either side of him, backing the younger teen up against the wall. Akaashi’s green eyes widened, but otherwise he was expressionless as Bokuto pressed closer to him, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off the other boy’s body, a testament to how hard he was practicing with his team.

Akaashi was such a great captain. Akaashi was so _great._

Bokuto still didn’t actually touch the other boy, not knowing if he was allowed to or if he even could. He was close, too close, and he could see Akaashi’s breathing pick up at the proximity of his former ace.

“ _Akaashiiiiiii_ ,” he whined, bouncing in place slightly. “You’re so unfair. Why would you do something so mean?”

“What did I do, Bokuto-san?”

There was the Akaashi he remembered – patient, dry, always sounding a little tired. Never harsh, never cruel. Always so inexorably himself. No wonder Bokuto had spent two years fawning after him, and was still fawning over him even now.

“You gained weight.”

Akaashi’s eyes flickered down briefly to take stock of himself, before he met Bokuto’s gaze levelly again. “I have. I noticed. Does it… bother you?”

“Yes! No – I mean, _yeah_ , but not like that, I’m really bothered! Really, really bothered! But not in a bad way, in a way like…”

Akaashi raised a thin eyebrow.

“A way like… I just… want to touch you… I _need_ to touch you, Akaashi. Please let me touch you?” Bokuto’s face was quickly going red, but his eyes were bright and hopeful as he stared at the other boy.

Akaashi studied him for a long moment with a predictably impassive expression on his face. He let out a sigh, a slow exhale of breath; Bokuto found that he’d never wished to be able to read Akaashi’s mind more than at that moment.

(Akaashi’s thought process at that exact moment: _“Bokuto-san’s Weakness, #46: Becomes very aroused by the sight of my newly acquired physique. Noted for further exploitation later… or as soon as possible.”_ )

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighed, “my team will come in to collect their things in twenty minutes.”

Bokuto’s face fell. Akaashi’s lips pressed together thinly; and, ever careful, he reached up to gently brush his fingers over Bokuto’s mouth.

“I’m giving you that much time. Make good use of it.”

The light returned to the former ace’s golden eyes once again; and, for the first time in what felt like far too long, Bokuto laid his broad hands on his old setter’s body, and drank in the feeling of Akaashi.


	13. stomach ache/belly rubs - hinata shouyou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another commenter's request that I took forever and a half to fill -- but that's okay, because it's really long? Also, behold my shameless excuse to write KageHinaYachi platonic fluff. They're the ot3, guys.

Hinata Shouyou has a weak stomach.

This is absolutely not a surprise to anyone. Ever since that moment when he kind of puked all over Tanaka-senpai’s lap in the middle of a bus ride (which, yes, was very much a thing that happened, and no, he really doesn’t like to talk about it) his nerves have been well known throughout the entire Karasuno team.

It’s an anxiety thing, and it’s followed him ever since he was a little kid. He can still remember his first day of kindergarten, where he made the world’s best impression on his teacher by vomiting all over her shiny black shoes. He had been mortified after that; his grandmother had had to come pick him up, and he had spent the entire afternoon vowing quite vocally _never to show his face in school ever again for as long as he lived._

Obviously that resolution hadn’t exactly stuck. Shouyou’s reputation as “the pukey kid” hadn’t gone away quite as easily, but he had managed to move past it. He grew; he figured things out. He managed to pick up ways to get a handle on his anxiety -- deep breaths, counting to ten, distracting himself from the worst-case scenario.

Of course, it wasn’t always as easy as that. If it were, Shouyou’s life would be much easier, and Tanaka-senpai probably wouldn’t have been traumatized for years to come by that one… incident.

He likes to tell himself that the butterflies in his stomach aren’t malicious at all -- friendly, even. But it’s less than half an hour before a practice match against the Touou High School volleyball team, and at this moment, the butterflies in his stomach don’t feel very much like friends to Shouyou at all. If anything, they feel like a vice grip, squeezing his insides and twisting them in a variety of sadistic and unhealthy ways that has Shouyou cringing as he walks the school hallways with the rest of his team, one hand over his stomach and the other clenching nervously at his side.

He knows he must look pale, because Sugawara-senpai is shooting him an anxious look. “Hinata,” he says quietly, “are you feeling okay?”

Shouyou immediately perks up, eyes widening as if he’s just been asked the million dollar question on one of those game shows his mother and sister love. “Sure I am!” he replies automatically, and it takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up with his tongue for him to realize that it’s a _lie_. He _doesn’t_ feel okay -- not at all. As if to prove it, his stomach cramps again, and he automatically winces in discomfort.

“I -- um. Actually,” he says, and Sugawara raises an eyebrow. “I’m gonna go find a bathroom, I think… I’m not feeling so great.”

No one says a thing when he quickly scampers off in the opposite direction; if anything, he’s pretty sure a few teammates look relieved. No one wants a repeat of the Tanaka Trauma, least of all Shouyou himself.

He fails to account for one thing; he’s never been to Touou before, and it’s a big school. Normally he wouldn’t have any trouble finding a bathroom (Tanaka likes to joke that he has a bathroom honing beacon embedded in his brain), but after wandering through the hallways for several minutes with an increasingly roiling gut and absolutely no luck, Shouyou is forced to admit temporary defeat.

He sinks down on a bench in one of the hallways, immediately hunching over as a cramp rides through his small frame. He feels really sick now; his stomach is sore and protesting as it churns violently. He gets a sudden mental image of butterflies in his stomach fistfighting, boxing ring and all. It’s an amusing enough sight that he feels his lips quirk up, before another cramp promptly has him groaning and doubling over again.

“Hinata-kun?”

The sweet, somewhat tentative voice from behind him is immediately recognizable, and Shouyou feels his heart leap up his throat. Yachi has become such an integral part of the team at this point that sometimes it’s easy to forget that she hasn’t been around from the beginning -- she wasn’t there for the bus incident, and although she knows (just like they all know) about Shouyou's stomach issues, she’s never experienced it firsthand before.

Shouyou slowly turns his head to see the blonde girl standing at the end of the hallway, gentle brow creased in concern. She’s taking him in, as he is; hunched over on a bench in an unfamiliar hallway, shoulders trembling, both arms clutching his stomach. He looks utterly pitiful. Shouyou feels a sudden hot burst of shame at appearing this way in front of his friend, and he can’t help but divert his gaze when Yachi takes a step forward.

“Are you okay?”

He obviously isn’t okay; Yachi knows this. Will he be fine? Yeah, probably, he’s gone through this enough times. But the point is, he doesn’t feel okay now, and for a second he’s not sure if he wants to outright say this to Yachi, or lie and tell her that everything is absolutely fine. The few seconds of hesitance wind up causing him to lose his chance entirely.

His stomach flip-flops and he groans, pressing a hand down hard to keep the pressure down. He winds up gasping for air and then promptly coughing it back up again in a half-gag that has him doubling over. He can hear Yachi hovering behind him, breathing short and somewhat frantic; he can’t help but feel bad for putting their poor little manager in this position. If his stomach would only decide to _cooperate_ with him ---

“I’m going to… get someone to help,” Yachi says tentatively. Shouyou tries to call out to stop her, to assure her that he’ll be fine, but he only finds himself gagging again and suddenly he isn’t all too sure about that himself. Wide-eyed, the little blonde’s gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before she quickly scuttles away, doubtlessly going to seek out the nearest available teammate and plead for a savior.

It’s shameful. Anxiety be damned, Shouyou can’t remember ever hating his own nerves more than right now. He’s scared Yachi-san, he’s managed to look totally pathetic -- what sort of ace will he ever be if he can’t even keep his stomach steady for one stupid practice match?

He hunches over, silently counting up from ten again and again in his head as he tries to steady the roiling of his stomach. Nausea before matches is something normal for him -- something he’s got used to, almost learned to control over the months since he started playing real volleyball. He doesn’t even want to think about how awful he’s going to feel once the Spring High Tournament begins. Right now, he feels sick enough to keel over, and the frustration leaves a bitter taste lingering on his tongue.

“Hinata-kun!” A high voice calls out, after several more minutes of riding through the pains. “Did you go anywhe-- oh, good.”

Yachi’s back, and Hinata isn't sure whether or not to be relieved. His picks up his head, taking in the little blond in front of him. Yachi’s eyes are wide, her round face awash in concern. She also looks vaguely victories, as if she knows for certain she's managed o do something good. This something, Hinata expects, has to be finding a person to help. He registers the figure looming a ways over Yachi’s shoulder, and his eyes lock on them as he realized just who it is that's come to their aid...

No way. Hinata blinks, squeezes his eyes shut, and then opens them again. If he had expected the tall figure in front of him to just disappear, he was mistaken -- but that still didn’t make Kageyama’s presence here any less unbelieveable. Of all the people Yachi could have gotten, it figures that she would go to the one person who Hinata really doesn’t want to see him looking so weak.

If it’s any consolation, Kageyama looks just as baffled by his own presence as Hinata feels. His eyes linger on the redhead for a few seconds before his lip curls slightly and he shifts his gaze away. Kageyama might not be any Tsukishima, he might not have that special way of muttering “pathetic” that just gets under your skin, but Hinata can feel it anyway. Unexpressed, the sentiment lingers strongly in the air between them, and Hinata finds himself cringing away before he even realizes it himself.

“Shhh…. oh Hinata-kun, it’s okay! It’s nothing to be ashamed of, I promise.”

Hinata groans again as his stomach gurgles, and he doesn’t realize he’s leaning against Yachi until his head is resting firmly on her shoulder and warm fingers are running their way through his hair. Standing above them both, Kageyama looks awkward and vaguely annoyed, though Hinata can’t tell if those are his current emotions at the moment or just his default face.

“When I get really nervous, sometimes I feel like I’m going to be sick too -- or my heart starts pounding really loud, and even though I know it isn’t possible I’m sometimes scared it’s going to jump straight out of my chest! Then I’d die, you know, because you can’t really live without a heart, but what if I turn out to be one of those medical miracles who can live on with a crucial piece of their body missing? That would mean I’d live without a heart forever! I don’t want to do that! And if I didn’t have a heart, maybe I wouldn’t be the same person, or maybe I’d undergo a total personality change -- like a Jekyll and Hyde thing! That would be awful, and then everyone would be so confused, and my mom would…”

When Yachi gets nervous she does two things: she talks (a lot) and she thinks (too much). These things are not always mutually inclusive. While Yachi rambles on Hinata eventually begins to tune her out, instead focusing on just how her entire body seems to radiate heat, or how comforting and gentle her voice sounds when he pretends he’s hearing it from far away. Yachi-san is nice to be around, in a way that reminds Shouyou of his mother in some ways, but also reminds him of those fantasies Tanaka and Nishinoya sometimes gush about where they dream of being taken care of by a pretty girl. Shouyou isn’t sure he’s ever had a crush on any girl before, and he definitely doesn't know if he could ever have a crush on Yachi (he doesn’t even know if having a crush on your manager would be allowed -- not that that seems to stop Tanaka-senpai and Noya-san). But somehow, he realizes, being like this really isn’t so bad -- being taken care of by someone who you know cares about you. He feels safe here, and it's really, really nice.

Well, until his stomach lurches again and he doubles forward with a groan, desperately trying to battle off the wave of nausea sweeping over him once more. He hears Yachi let out a soft noise of disquiet, her hands on his shoulders; then, she says something he really hadn’t been expecting.

“Kageyama-kun, sit down? Please?”

Even Kageyama doesn’t seem to know what to do in the face of a request like that; obligingly, he sits, hovering somewhat awkwardly to the side of Yachi and Hinata. Yachi lets out a soft huff, gesturing for him to move in closer, and it is a minute or two before the setter dares to do so.

By now the cramp has tapered off, and Shouyou is trying hard to even out his breathing. He feels Yachi’s arm around his shoulder, and without really thinking about it (because she smells nice and feels warm and being around her really does make him feel less nervous) he curls up with his head resting in her lap.

Yachi freezes for a minute, not seeming to know what to do; before Shouyou can gather up the energy to pull away, though, she relaxes. She says something else to Kageyama that he can’t hear, and the setter says something back -- his tone is grumpy, Hinata notes, just like always. Yachi answers in a calm tone, and it’s a few minutes more before Shouyou hears anything from Kageyama again.

Or rather -- _feels_ something from him. There is a hand on his stomach, one that’s cold and definitely not Yachi’s. Instinctively he cringes, and his chin tilts slightly so he can look up at Kageyama with wide, confused eyes.

The setter’s cheeks are flushed bright red, and he has that murderous scowl on his face that Hinata has learned he only gets when he’s really embarrassed about something. A single hand is resting on Shouyou’s stomach, and to the boy’s surprise he realizes that Kageyama is actually rubbing back and forth, the same way his mother would sometimes do whenever he or Natsu got bellyaches at home.

“See? That’s good?” Yachi’s voice is quiet and encouraging, though Kageyama is far from willing to meet his eye. It’s Shouyou’s first instinct to pull back, maybe even snap at Kageyama for touching him at all -- but this clearly is Yachi’s idea, not his, and the last thing either of them want is to hurt Yachi’s feelings. Besides, if he tries to move Yachi’s fingers might stop stroking through his hair, and he’s not going to lie when he says that feels really, _really_ nice--

His stomach gurgles and Kageyama’s hand jolts slightly. He looks up at the other boy again, frowning.

“Don’t laugh at me, Kageyama.”

“I’m not,” Kageyama hisses defensively.

“You were going to.”

“Why would I laugh? If I did, you might get mad and puke on me!”

“I’d only do that if you deserved it, you --”

“Please don’t fight!” Yachi’s voice interrupts their banter, and the two fall into humbled silence once more. Kageyama’s hand is still too awkward on his stomach, stiff and uncertain as they massage slightly bloated skin; it takes a minute for Yachi to notice, but when she does, she sighs.

“Try it like this,” she orders, and suddenly there’s another hand rubbing his stomach in slow, smooth circles -- this one without calluses and very, very warm.

Shouyou involuntarily lets out a sigh of content, leaning into the touch of his two friends. A part of him wants to be embarrassed, but the rest is just overrun by how nice it feels to be comforted by two people he cares about when he isn’t feeling well. He’d gotten so used to dealing with his anxious stomach on his own, that having other people there all of a sudden feels quite foreign, but very nice.

“Thank you, Yachi-san,” he mutters with a shaky breath. Then, after a stubborn beat of silence he adds, “and Kageyama.”

The corners of Yachi’s lips lift slightly. Meanwhile, Kageyama’s brow only furrows. Hinata knows enough about Kageyama-isms by now to realize that the other boy is struggling with happiness.

“The game starts in ten minutes,” Kageyama finally replies, and Yachi gives a slight gasp as her head swivels to look over her shoulder. She breathes out an “oh,” catching sight of the time, before she turns down and bends over Hinata once more.

“Hinata-kun, do you think you'll be able to play the game?”

“Of course!” The idea of not playing is preposterous; Hinata abruptly sits up, managing with minimal struggle to push himself into an upright position. When he does so, both of the hands that had been providing so much relief abandon his stomach. The boy lets out a quiet huff, but doesn't complain when he realizes just how effective Yachi and Kageyama’s ministrations had been in removing any cramps.

His stomach still feels shaky, but the nausea has receded; he is no longer plagued by sharp pains, but rather a dull ache that doesn't feel quite as ominous. He hasn't even had to throw up, and somehow Yachi and Kageyama had managed to make him feel so much better.

“I ---” For a moment, he doesn't know what to say; he feels surprised, and very grateful to his friends. “Thank you. I feel better now.”

Yachi’s small smile widens into a full on grin, borne more out of relief at the news than anything else. “I'm so glad!” she exclaims as Kageyama rises to his feet, obviously feeling the pull of the volleyball court demanding his presence. Hinata knows, because he can feel it too - there's a place where he belongs right now, and it isn't fighting off nausea on a bench.

He belongs on the court, with his teammates. With his friends.

“Come on, Hinata,” Kageyama says. “If you make us late --”

Hinata doesn't waste any time rising to his feet. “I won't make us late!”

“You're taking forever!”

“I'll race you back, stupid!”

“Fine!”

The two boys take off down the hallway, ignoring Yachi’s startled calls from behind them of “Don't run! You'll upset your stomach again -- do you even know where you're going?” Hinata can feel the ground under his feet; Kageyama is at his side. He is about the be embraced by the familiar atmosphere of the volleyball court once again.

His stomach gives off a slight twinge, but this time he can brush it off. He doesn't have to be anxious about anything, he realizes -- not as long as he has such great friends to make things better.


	14. stuffing/bloating - shigino kisumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am not nice to this boy

He’d read about it online – he’d seen videos, read experiences from people who’d actually done it. Kisumi didn’t think anyone could be able to blame him for being curious enough to try.

He’d known he was going to overeat when he woke up this morning; his mother had run her company bakesale that weekend, and brought home a few leftover pies – five, in fact. She’d told Kisumi to dispose of them however he could, and he’d promised to take them down to his basketball team that afternoon. He didn’t have any intention of doing that, of course; after practice, he had promptly returned home. His mother worked late on Tuesdays, so he knew he’d have free reign of the house for a few hours, and he intended to make good use of the time.

Two cherry pies and three blueberry ones later, Kisumi had fished the pack of Mentos out of his pocket, and picked up the bottle of coke from the floor.

He’d read that mint Mentos were the best for this sort of thing; so he’d come prepared. He’d even brought along a bottle of water to help him down the candies whole. After slightly cracking their shells with his teeth, he took a large mouthful of water and swallowed two Mentos. Finally, he began to drink the soda.

It wasn’t anything revolutionary; it wasn’t mindblowing. But it was exhilarating. Almost immediately Kisumi could feel the candies reacting with the soda in his stomach. His already full belly let out a loud gurgle, and he belched against the back of his hand. Leaning back, he observed wide-eyed as his already full stomach began to swell even more, pushing the hem of his jeans down under the curve of his belly. The soda seemed to fill every last available space in his stomach, packing it tight and making it just a bit difficult to breathe. Reclining in his chair, his gut pressed down on top of him and he burped again, feeling lethargic and satisfied.

Rose-hued eyes wandered lazily around the room; he took in his familiar basketball posters, his schoolbag resting on his bed, and the alarm clock on his desk reading that it was a quarter to five in the afternoon.

And that was the moment it hit him. Kisumi was a laid back guy. He liked to think he was easy to get along with, he didn’t get upset over much, and he definitely never panicked.

But it’s pretty hard not to panic when you’re draining the dregs of a two liter bottle of coke and it dawns on you that you have to pick your baby brother up from his swim lesson in _fifteen minutes_.

For lack of a more dignified term, he let out a squawk as he leaped to his feet, empty pie tins toppling to the floor with a clatter. He snatched a clean shirt off of the floor, shaking it free of wrinkles before hastily pulling it down over his head. That’s where he hit a slight snag in his plan – his eyes widened, a faint flush coming over his cheeks as he realized just how much he’d overdone it. His shirt wouldn’t cover his stomach. It rested snugly atop the sizeable bulge of his belly, hem riding up and keeping him from entirely covering himself. His pants were only just staying buttoned, resting snugly beneath his round stomach; there was no way he could actually leave the house like this.

Kisumi let out a groan, supporting himself against the wall with one hand; so much movement wasn’t agreeing with his too-full stomach at all. A burp slipped past his lips, and he huffed a sigh as his hand began to gently massage his belly.

It dawned on him that he would have to think quickly to solve his current predicament. Snatching up his phone from his dresser, he quickly shot a text to Makoto telling him that he was going to be a few minutes late, and to _‘please not let Hayato get into any trouble before I get there!!! :D’_ Then he started to dig through his drawers.

Eventually he pulled out the biggest t-shirt he owns – an extra large that his grandmother had accidentally bought him for his last birthday, being unable to read the size on the tag. Kisumi had never thought he’d have use of the baggy shirt; now he found himself thanking the heavens for his grandmother’s poor eyesight.

The shirt, thankfully, was effective in concealing his bloated middle. He still looked a bit pregnant, sure, but it was nothing he couldn’t pass off as the result of a big meal.

Grabbing his phone, he finally starts on his way. The _Iwatobi SC RETURNS!_ was about eight minutes away from his house if he ran; and Kisumi tried, he really did. Unsurprisingly, his current condition doesn’t really allow for much movement. He hadn’t even made it halfway before he was forced to stop, leaning against a fence to catch his breath and belching uneasily into his fist, riding out the multitude of cramps shooting through his abdomen.

“Oww…” he moaned, massaging his belly through his shirt. “Oh man…”

Hayato was waiting for him. He clung to this thought as he pushed himself to his feet again a few minutes later, stifling another burp. He was a good brother. He could do this. Wow, he _really_ needed a nap.

By the time he reached the swim club, he didn’t just feel full anymore; he felt _overly_ full, almost nauseous from the sheer quantity in his stomach that was being disturbed by his constant movement. He made it through the door victoriously before he had stop, leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath.

He could hear Hayato before he saw him – the high pitched cry of _“onii-chan!”_ was his little brother’s classic greeting. His mouth was automatically open with a dozen apologies on the tip of his tongue, but he found himself cut off by the force of something slamming directly into his stomach.

“You came!” Hayato exclaimed brightly, bouncing in place as his arms squeezed his older brother’s middle in a tight hug. “You’re late. You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago! Makoto-sensei looked after me, so don’t worry, but you’re still late! That isn’t good, _onii-chan!_ ”

“Sorry, Hayato,” Kisumi replied weakly, his voice shaking slightly as he visibly fought off the pain his brother’s greeting was causing. From behind Hayato he could see Makoto, still in his instructor’s swimsuit, approaching; his heart sunk. Makoto was a wonderful person, really he was, and an attractive person to boot – which was exactly why Kisumi really didn’t want him seeing him in this state.

Down at waist-level, Hayato had thankfully pulled away and was now eyeing his brother’s stomach with something akin to curiosity. _“Onii-chan,_ why does your tummy feel weird?”

“Hayato!”

“It does!” his brother retorted, looking back up at him with wide eyes. “It feels big-”

Kisumi hastily clamped a hand over his brother’s mouth as Makoto stopped in front of them. The tanned boy grinned in greeting, and Kisumi felt his own face automatically split into a friendly smile. When Makoto smiled at you, you smiled back, no matter what.

“Kisumi! Don’t worry about being late, Hayato was just putting away some of the swim equipment with me. He’s a really great helper.“

“That’s great!” Kisumi replied with forced enthusiasm. He was so not in any condition for this conversation. His stomach gurgled again, and he was unable to fight off a wince.

Makoto noticed – of course he did, because he was _Makoto_ , and his best friend was Haruka, so he noticed everything. The green-eyed boy’s face fell, concern creasing his brow. “Is everything okay? You weren’t held up by anything serious, were you?”

“Uhh… no…” Kisumi bit down on his lip to keep from outright belching in Makoto’s face, shaking his head. “Just not… feeling great today. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Makoto smiled again, but it was one of those smiles, the ones that clearly scream _“I’m worried about you and I want you to be okay”._ It was such a Makoto gesture, and Kisumi’s chest started to feel just a bit warmer, the way it always did when Makoto was around. “Okay, then. Feel better! See you later!”

“Yeah, see you!” Kisumi said – or started to say. It was what he had meant to say, honest, but not what actually wound up coming out of his mouth. At the last second his stomach groaned, excess carbonation bubbled up in his throat, and instead of words a wet burp wound up coming out in response to Makoto’s gentle, gentle smile.

Kisumi blanched. Where he turned white, Makoto’s face seemed to rapidly be turning red in his stead. After that, things happened in a blur; Kisumi was pretty sure he squeaked out an apology and a goodbye, grabbed Hayato, and booked it from the swimming club. He wasn’t actually conscious of anything going on around him until he and Hayato were already halfway home, and he came to the sudden realization that his face had been buried in his hands for the past five minutes.

Next to him, Hayato was walking in silence; but when his older brother glanced down, the boy grinned. “That was kinda funny, _onii-chan!_ ” he chirped.

A high-pitched whine started to emit from the back of Kisumi’s throat; he wasn’t sure, but it may have been a scream.


	15. burping contest - sawamura daichi/sugawara koushi

Suga drew his knees up to his chest, gnawing on a piece of pizza crust while his eyes bore intently into the movie playing on their television screen. James Bond had just infiltrated the villain’s hotel and was undercover as a foreign buisnessman; the tension palpable on screen was leaking into the room. Suga didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until a gunshot went off on screen. He jumped, the pizza box jolted when he accidentally kicked it, and next to him he heard his boyfriend let out a soft sigh.

Smirking at his own reaction, Suga turned his head to glance at Daichi. “That was actually pretty scary! I wasn’t expecting a shot to go off right – hey. Daichi?”

Daichi wasn’t paying attention to the movie, or to him. His dark haired boyfriend was cradling a half-full beer can in his lap, staring down at it; a strange look had come over his face. Suga frowned, tilting his head slightly, before reaching out and tapping his boyfriend on the knee. “Daichi.”

Abruptly, Daichi brought his closed fist down against the center of his chest. Suga barely had time to blink before his boyfriend’s mouth opened, a harsh sound tearing loudly from his throat.

_“Buuuuuuuuurp!”_

Daichi’s mouth closed with a click of teeth. He exhaled a sigh through his nose, dipping his head back to rest against the back of the couch, clearly relieved to have gotten that out of his system. Next to him, his boyfriend’s hands were clamped over his own mouth to muffle his giggles.

“Hey!” Daichi scolded, casting the other man a mock-dirty look. “Don’t laugh, Suga. You know what happens when I drink beer.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Suga snorted, forcing himself to regain his composure. Catching his breath, he leaned forward and grabbed another piece of pizza from the box, as well as a beer can for himself. One of Daichi’s eyebrows quirked - he knew Suga rarely drank - but he said nothing.

The movie played on, as Bond’s designated love interest for the film was inevitably captured by the villain. Daichi was just starting to get into it when he felt something cold nudging his arm. Looking down, he narrowed his eyes when he realized it was Suga’s foot.

“Your toes are co-” he started to complain, but was cut off when his boyfriend suddenly released a belch even more powerful than what Daichi had suffered through just a few minutes ago.

“S- Suga!”

Daichi’s eyes were wide; next to him, Suga was laughing again, his good mood probably amplified by the slight amount of alcohol in his system. What’s more, Suga’s foot was still repeatedly striking Daichi in the arm, even venturing up to try to kick him in the face, and his toes were _cold_.

 _Well_ , Daichi decided, _someone just has to teach him a lesson._

He took a long swig of beer, tossing his head back and allowing the sour tasting liquid to run down his throat. As soon as he finished he took a deep breath, swallowing down the excess air. While Suga was still laughing, he could feel the carbonation beginning to bubble in his stomach.

_“BruuuuUUUURP!”_

Suga stopped laughing, eyes locking on Daichi. His boyfriend met his gaze head on, one eyebrow raised in challenge. Of course, Sugawara Koushi was never one to turn down a direct provocation.

It didn’t take too long before the movie was all but forgotten. The two had enough beer stocked up – none of it meant to be consumed all in a single night, but circumstances were funny sometimes – that they could both put up a pretty good fight. Adding the quantity of beer to the fair amount of pizza already in both their stomachs, it wasn’t long before they were both able to belch hugely, letting them out and each trying to outdo the other every time.

Daichi sounded as if the skin was being scraped from the back of his throat; the more alcohol he drank, the harsher his belches became, louder and more painful sounding with every new burp. Suga, meanwhile, was never good at drinking a lot of alcohol. He was growing visibly more tipsy as the competition went on, to the point where he was every so often tipping over on the couch in a fit of giggles. He’d have to be righted again by Daichi each time; the sound of liquid sloshing in his stomach was audible, and even when he wasn’t burping he would periodically let out soft little hiccups that would have him jolting in place and then set him off giggling again. His burps, meanwhile, were growing progressively more nauseous-sounding the more he drank.

Daichi had a high alcohol tolerance; by the time the two had drank their way through an entire case of beer, it had become clear that if anyone was winning this competition, it wasn’t Suga.

“No, no, Daichi, you’re – you’re doing it wrong. You have to rub your belly like this, see? And then you – _hic!_ – and then you can burp louder. It’s.. it works. I promise. I’ll show you…” Suga’s words trailed off, the ashen haired man seeming to get lost halfway; his own hand was massaging a steady rhythm into his stomach, minding the slight beer gut which was beginning to form on his otherwise slender frame from the alcohol consumption. Daichi watched, a bit sleepy and mildly fascinated, as Suga’s hand worked along the pale skin. Suddenly his boyfriend leaned forward, a wet and sick sound tearing from his mouth.

“ _BrUULP!”_

Following this one Suga actually pressed the back of his hand to his mouth; seeing him start to sway in place a bit, Daichi pushed himself to sit up. No sooner had he done this that Suga suddenly pitched forward, either in an act of giving up on gravity entirely or having it give up on him. He landed square in Daichi’s arms, the lagree haired male holding him tightly as Suga sunk against his chest.

There was a dazed look in his  dark eyes as he seemed to be struggling to process the shift from one moment sitting upright to suddenly being braced in his lover’s arms the next. Suga almost seemed frustrated for a minute at the change, before seeming to give up with a soft huff and settling his head snugly in the center of his boyfriend’s chest.

“Do you give up?” asked Daichi, unable to keep a fond smile off his face.

Suga hiccuped softly. “I yield.”

“Thought so.” Readjusting them both on the couch so that Suga could lean against him comfortably, Daichi glanced at the television screen. The movie’s credits were already rolling; it dawned on Daichi that he had no clue how it had ended.

“Mmm…” Suga buried his face in his chest and actually sniffed him before drawing back, eyes drunkenly bright. “Hey Daichi? Hey hey?”

“Hey you.”

“D'you think… Hinata… and Tsukishima. We should talk to them sometimes. Nishinoya. And… what’s his name. The one who always looked sleepy all the time. The not-you one. The, umm… he wasn’t _you_.”

“Ennoshita?”

“Yes! We should talk to our beloved kouhai more. Our volleyball team’s… falling out of the nest. The crows are hatching from their eggshells, Daichi, and it’s… it’s…”

“Sad?”

“Yes!” Suga nodded vigorously before promptly face planting against Daichi’s chest again. “Put on another movie, Daichi,” he muttered into his boyfriend’s chest. Daichi sighed obligingly before reaching across the couch to seize the remote. He scrolled through the available movie titles before selecting an action movie he thought might appeal to him more than Suga, who already seemed a bit too hazy to focus on the television. As the screen lit up with the beginning of the movie, Suga suddenly shifted on top of him.

“Mmmmm…” Suga moaned, and Daichi sat up a bit straighter as Suga suddenly lifted his head. He was just about to ask what was wrong, but Suga beat him to the punch.

_“BUUUUUUUUUURRRP!”_

Suga face planted back against Daichi’s chest with a sigh. Daichi blinked in the room’s darkness.

“Hey, Daichi?”

“Yeah?”

“I think… I win.”


	16. weight gain/insecurity - oikawa tooru

“Hmm…”

The sound from the other side of the room had Hajime lifting his head from where it was rested atop his folded arms; the hands holding his phone lowered as almost immediately his attention was seized by something else.

Tooru – hair still dripping, wearing nothing but his boxers and a towel slung over his shoulders – had just stepped out from the bathroom. Hot steam left over from his shower spilled into the little bedroom, filling it with warmth. In spite of being quite comfortably bundled up in bed, blankets cocooning the entire lower half of his body, Hajime felt the warmth fill him from his core outwards, and his lips twitched up in a tiny smirk as he realized the actual reason his boyfriend had stopped in the doorway instead of immediately joining him in bed.

He tilted his head slightly, watching his boyfriend model in the bedroom mirror. Tooru’s lower lip was curled in a slight pout as he examined all the panes and curves of his mostly-naked body. Hands on his hips, he pulled his shoulders back; he frowned, turned, glanced at himself over his shoulder and let out a huff. One hand slowly ran down his chest, beginning from the faintly defined line of his collarbone and stopping right at his belly button.

 _Oh,_ Hajime thought to himself. _That’s it._

He slipped out of bed, unnoticed, as Tooru continued to palm at the plush skin of his belly. The chubbiness formed there folded beneath his hands, skin moving easily with his own gestures. Tooru cupped his belly in both hands, studying where his once-defined abs had faded away into soft skin, and he let out a soft sigh.

When muscular arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders, he didn’t jump; he had been expecting his boyfriend. Hajime hooked his chin over Tooru’s shoulder, and leaned into his neck, Tooru squirming at the feeling of his hair brushing slightly ticklish skin.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered, voice soft but laced with a whine. It was bait; for once, Hajime didn’t take it.

“What are you doing?” he countered, raising an eyebrow at their images in the mirror. Tooru’s eyes locked on reflected-Hajime’’s challenging gaze, and Hajime could feel the way his shoulders slumped slightly.

“I’ve just been… looking. I don’t know. Iwa-chan, I look different –”

“You look gorgeous.”

“I’m _fat_ , and no matter how you put it I’m fat, and not that it isn’t a good look for me because of course _everything_ is, but I just see myself and I–”

This line of thought just wouldn’t do. Thinking on his feet, Hajime’s eyes flickered downwards; in the space of half a second he had spun around to face Tooru directly, slowly lowering himself down to his knees at the other man’s feet. His dark gaze continued to pierce Tooru’s own; rough hands moved down Tooru’s body with surprising gentleness, caressing the planes of his torso and stopping just short of his abdomen.

Slowly, deliberately, Hajime gripped Tooru’s hips and pressed a kiss softly against his stomach. He heard the other boy’s breath hitch, felt Tooru’s hands begin to massage his shoulders.

“You’re beautiful to me,” Hajime said, tilting his head up and allowing his chin to cushion against Tooru’s stomach. “Always.”


	17. weight gain/stuffing - aida riko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was my first female stuffing i got a request to do and I really really love Riko a lot okay so i had fun with this

Looking back, Hyuuga would never be able to say exactly when it started – mostly due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed it at first. Team meals were rare enough, and it wasn’t as if he dined with Riko on a daily basis or anything. He knew that she and Kiyoshi got dinner together sometimes; they had ever since he’d gotten out of the hospital, and they did it frequently enough that Hyuuga actually asked Riko one day if the two of them were still dating. She’d quite adamantly insisted that _no_ , they _weren’t_ – and that very afternoon, as if to prove a point, Hyuuga had been invited out to lunch with them.

Soon enough, going out with Kiyoshi and Riko became a regular thing. Kiyoshi was still as frustrating to be around as he ever was, but even he had his good moments – more so in the presence of Riko, around whom _every_ moment was a good moment (in Hyuuga’s eyes, at least - even when she was training the team to the bone and forcing them to run laps in the rain). There was something very comfortable in it, he thought, getting to meet up a few times a week after practice to eat and discuss the team, training, and whatever would come after high school. Difficult topics were made easier by familiar people, and soon enough the three of them managed to fall into an easily comfortable rapport that resumed every time they got together on these occasions.

Hyuuga hadn’t paid attention to how much Riko ate. He knew their Coach had always had a healthy appetite to begin with, and she was far from being the size of women gracing the television screens or magazine racks. Riko had a naturally shorter, more athletic build; as far as he’d known, she’d always been okay with that. Seeing her eat her fill at dinner never caused any raised eyebrows.

He only started paying attention when he started noticing other things, little things – like the way Kiyoshi would sometimes shift any leftovers from his plate to Riko’s, or the way Riko’s cheeks seemed to be filling out more as the weeks went by.

After that, Hyuuga begins paying a lot more attention.

“Ahhhh!” Riko sighs, raising her arms above her head as they step out into the cool night air. “That was good. They always make really good food at this place, don’t they?”

“Good and inexpensive,” Kiyoshi quips with a grin over his shoulder. “Are you sure we’re still in Japan?”

Hyuuga doesn’t say anything; his eyes are focused on the way Riko’s orange t-shirt rides up as she folds her arms behind her head. Her stomach is revealed in all it’s glory, a newly developed layer of thickness making her hips just a bit wider and causing a growing belly to poke out from over the waist of her jeans. Hyuuga feels his breath catch in his throat.

He should have been paying _so much more attention._

Almost reflexively, Kiyoshi slings a broad arm over Riko’s much smaller shoulders, and she relaxes into his side. Hyuuga walks alongside them, feeling more than a little isolated and caught up in his own thoughts.

That is, until Riko’s hand somehow manages to find his, pulling him closer to her side.

* * *

 

He’d known things were going to be different that night the moment Kiyoshi ordered double his usual serving size. Next to him Riko had seemed unusually excited, bouncing in her seat and smiling brightly up at the waiter as she placed her own order. When it came to Hyuuga’s turn, both Kiyoshi and Riko were watching him intently; he could not escape the feeling of being a sheep who’s somehow managed to capture the attention of two ravenous wolves.

Without really knowing why, he’d ordered twice his own usual helping of food as well. Across the table Kiyoshi beamed, and he saw Riko conceal a grin behind her hand.

Now it’s obvious just why; and Hyuuga isn’t sure whether he feels thrilled or astonished at the spectacle in front of him. Riko has managed to finish off her own meal before either of the boys could get through even a quarter of their portions; by the time there’s still at least half a plate of food left, Hyuuga feels comfortably full and not at all eager to eat any more. His eyes catch Kiyoshi’s across the table; it’s obvious that the center is feeling much the same way. But there’s a light in his eyes nonetheless, a _dangerous_ light, one that Hyuuga has become conditioned to be wary of.

Kiyoshi lifts his plate, turns, and easily swaps his own with Riko’s. The girl takes in the food in front of her with a pleased smirk. “Finally. I was starting to get hungry.”

Hyuuga doesn’t realize how intently he is watching his coach eat. There’s something mesmerizing about her; the way she steadily lifts forkful after forkful to her mouth, ignoring the dripping juices of the meat and vegetables even as a bit of hot liquid runs down her chin. Her mouth closes around a bite, her jaw shifts and clenches while she chews, and as soon as her throat bobs with her swallow she already has another forkful ready.

What’s even more amazing is that conversation hasn’t slowed at all; Riko and Kiyoshi are still communicating with as much ease as they would any other night, even though nine times out of ten when Hyuuga glances at Riko, her mouth is full. It’s almost miraculous, he thinks; as their coach swallows down the last bit of meat, leaving Kiyoshi’s plate clean along with her own, he can barely believe that petite Riko could put so much away.

Well – _formerly_ petite Riko, he realizes, and it only dawns on him in that moment that Riko hasn’t really been petite in a while. Her thighs have widened, filling out her jeans in a way he can’t fail to notice; her arms are plumper, her cheeks have grown round, and though she is as quick on her feet as ever it’s obvious that she’s gaining weight. He’d always assumed girls were sensitive about things like that, even Riko; but as she turns to look at both of them with a wide smile, flash flushed and breaths coming in heavy pants, she seems more than a little proud of herself.

“That was good,” she huffs out, and Kiyoshi affectionately ruffles her short hair.

“How are you feeling?”

Riko seems to consider this for a long moment, deliberating as she licks a stray splash of sauce from her bottom lip. Her dark eyes are resting on Hyuuga’s plate, and it dawns on him with incredulous horror that she _actually intends to eat the rest of it._

“C-Coach,” he starts, wide eyed and far from certain how he should be feeling right now, but Riko cuts him off with a gesture of her hand towards the plate.

“I’m still hungry,” she affirms with a smile, and Kiyoshi’s ever-present grin grows even widen. Hyuuga’s pulse is hammering so fast that it reminds him of the feeling he gets when stepping onto the basketball court before a game. He should stop this. He _knows_ that. He should tell Riko to at least take a breath, that she’s eaten _more_ than enough, and he should put this all to rest for good —

He passes Riko the plate.

* * *

 

By the time their check has been paid and they’re ready to go, Riko’s breath has finally returned to her. After finishing that last plate it had seemed pretty touch and go for a few minutes, the girl burying her head in her arms as her back rose and fell in uneven pants of breath; she had shaken off Kiyoshi and then Hyuuga when they both tried to inquire after her. Now she’s sitting up again, at least, and her eyes follow the two boys as they rise to their feet, slipping into their jackets and pushing in their chairs. Kiyoshi takes the liberty of slinging Riko’s own coat over his arm. Hyuuga, meanwhile, is at Riko’s side and waiting for her to get up.

It takes a few seconds for it to dawn on him. Riko shifts in her seat; she huffs, curls an arm around her stomach, starts to rise and then seems to sink back again. _Riko can’t get up._

She turns to him, pale cheeks flushed bright and embarrassed. “Hyuuga-kun, I – do you mind –”

“Sure!” he agrees immediately, and just as quickly slips an arm under her. Kiyoshi is on her other side, steady as ever, and together the two of them manage to raise Riko to her feet.

She lets out a groan, arm wrapping around her stomach tighter; without the table concealing it, only now can Hyuuga see just how awfully overfed Riko is. Her belly is bulging and swollen from under her t-shirt, revealing a thin stripe of peach toned skin, and the waist of her jeans is so tight that Hyuuga realizes it has to hurt.

Kiyoshi’s hold tightens on the girl as she goes to take a step before immediately stopping. “Riko?” he sounds cautious. “Are you okay? Really?”

“I’m –” Riko’s brow furrows, and she cuts herself off with a soft burp before managing a nod. “Just… Teppei, Hyuuga… I feel so _full_.”

Though followed by a soft groan, the way she says this makes it clear that this is a good thing. Hyuuga can’t escape that nagging feeling of confusion, but he does his part anyway, steadying Riko on her feet as she stumbles out of the restaurant, her overstuffed belly leading the way.

“That was fantastic,” she mutters into the empty air as the three of them walk slowly down the lonely sidewalk. “Not sure I... can handle it again anytime soon, but it was so nice.”

“I had a great time too,” Kiyoshi agrees, tightening his hold around Riko’s shoulders. “You look wonderful tonight, Riko.”

 _Not dating, my ass,_ thinks Hyuuga, his face contorting into a scowl as he watches Riko lazily drop her head against Kiyoshi’s shoulders. She’s dragging her feet now, the lethargy from that big meal weighing her down; Walking alongside them, Hyuuga still feels woefully out of the loop. Whatever had happened tonight, whatever had clearly been happening for some time without his notice, was obviously something both Riko and Kiyoshi were agreed upon. _He’d_ like to be let in on the secret too.

“Not to ruin a sappy moment, but would anyone like to tell me why Riko just tried to eat out an entire restaurant?”

His two companions stop; both turn towards him, Riko looking baffled and Kiyoshi wide-eyed and somewhat amused. Hyuuga feels his blood boil at that expression on the other boy’s face; Kiyoshi had _known_ , damn him, and had expected him to be just as baffled as he now was. He’d done this on purpose.

“Hyuuga-kun?” Riko tilts her head, totally oblivious to the schemer right above her. “What do – you mean you haven’t noticed?”

“That’s impossible,” Kiyoshi interjects, smirking now. “Hyuuga’s been eating with us for months now.”

“You’ve never – never –” Hyuuga is sputtering now; his face is getting redder and redder with each word. “You’ve never eaten like _that_ before! You can barely even walk! And you – you’ve been gaining weight, I _noticed_ that, and — Riko, you look good, you really do, I swear – but you mean this has all been on purpose?”

“Of course it has!” Riko exclaims, eyes wide. “You didn’t know?”

 _No_. He should think his expression makes it very clear that he hadn’t known.

Riko blinks up at him for a long moment – and then Hyuuga is unpleasantly surprised when his coach suddenly bursts into a fit of giggles that leave her doubling over, at first gasping for air and then hiccuping and clutching her heavy stomach. Kiyoshi helpfully pats her on the back as she regains her composure; straightening up, a forceful belch tears from her mouth. Hyuuga’s eyes go huge, and Riko grins through the blush on her cheeks.

“You really didn’t know,” she says again, as if confirming it for everyone. “Well, it was Teppei’s idea at first… I kept thinking about what that awful Teikou girl said about… _breast size_ … and he thought that maybe if I gained some weight then mine would get bigger, and I’d just be able to lose the weight later but keep the new… assets! So that’s what we’ve been trying to do for the past month or so – it’s been working, hasn’t it?”

Hyuuga’s eyes run over her form, from her shapely thighs to the - _yes_ \- slightly larger size of her breasts. His eyes linger and immediately he looks away, blushing; it’s _certainly_ been working. He hears Riko sigh from below him.

“Except… you know, I think I enjoy it. Eating so much… it makes me feel very warm. Especially when you two are here with me. I like how I’m able to feel safe with the two of you.”

Kiyoshi chuckles, a low rumbling sound that inexplicably makes Hyuuga want to punch something – preferably, his idiot face. “Well, that’s why we’re all dating, isn’t it?”

Hyuuga’s head snaps up.

“Exactly,” Riko replies with another warm smile. Teppei runs a broad hand down her back, coaxing out another burp which she stifles against her knuckles; and then she’s reaching for Hyuuga, arms wide and beseeching, and he can do nothing but give himself to her.

She pulls him close, and this time it’s his shoulder she leans again. A contented sigh escapes her lips as the three of them walk on – well, Hyuuga thinks he’s walking, though it feels more like floating on a cloud. Beside him, Riko’s stomach grumbles. “Ohhh, I ate too much.”

Hyuuga is too caught up in the thrill of having his longtime crush suddenly announce that they’re dating to really think through the euphoric haze filling his mind. He feels Riko’s soft lips, still slightly sticky from dinner, press to his collarbone and he’s sure his heart stops for at least a full second. Even when she tilts her head to press a kiss to Kiyoshi’s shoulderblade, he doesn’t mind. Maybe dating _Kiyoshi_ should come as a bit more of a shock to him– but then again, at this point he’s not sure he’s really surprised. He knows he should mind more, but the boy integrates himself so easily that by this point Hyuuga realizes it would feel strange were Kiyoshi not with them at all.

“I know,” Kiyoshi suddenly speaks up, starting both of his companions. “How about ice cream?”

Riko’s eyes go very, very wide, flickering between Hyuuga and Kiyoshi; both boys are sporting smiles that send a thrill down her spine. They look to her, obviously leaving the last word to her; a hand shifts to her stomach, palming both the overfull bloating there along with the newly forming chub. She tilts her head, eyes gleaming wickedly.

“I think I could go for dessert.”


	18. stuffing - matsuoka rin

It wasn’t as if Rin overate _often_. In fact, allowing himself to indulge in empty calories and heavy foods was something his regimented diet plan really didn’t allow for. He liked to think of himself as a model of self-discipline; as an aspiring Olympic athlete, he knew taking care of your body was one of the most important things, and that didn’t mean fueling it with junk and forcing it through unnecessary stressors like eating completely past your limit.

That wasn’t to say he was perfect. And after taking first place for himself and Samezuka in a hugely publicized swim meet, he doubted anyone could blame him for wanting to celebrate a bit. And damn him if all that hard work hadn’t left him absolutely _starving_.

So, for just _one_ dinner out with his team, he left his diet fall to the wayside.

It didn’t occur to him just how much he’d overeaten until he felt an uncomfortable straining in his gut, belly pushing against the waist of his form-hugging jeans. Pushing his final cleared plate away from him – and looking now, he realized he’d managed to eat his way through five plates altogether – he leaned back in his chair with a shallow huff.

His stomach wasn’t just distended from the amount of food he’d eaten; it was bloated, pushing his abs out and fighting for dominance with his pants. From beneath his t-shirt, he could see the bulge of his full stomach pushing against the fabric. Tentatively, a hand raised to stroke his belly; it let out a low, displeased gurgle, and Rin’s crimson eyes widened.

When was the last time he’d indulged his appetite this much? He couldn’t remember; not for at least a year, certainly, not since he’d returned from his last visit to Australia. Not for a long time, and this feeling was definitely not one he was used to. Still, as strange as it felt, he wouldn’t go so far as to call his newfound fullness uncomfortable.

From where he sat next to him, Sousuke’s eyes drifted over to observe his friend’s state; dark eyebrows crept up his forehead, and he let out a low whistle. “Wow, Rin.”

“Shut up,” shot back Rin, tone far less caustic than his words implied. He allowed his shoulders to relax, head dropping against the back of the chair as he let out a long sigh. His stomach felt more than heavy, a pressing weight on his middle, and it was enough of a struggle just to breathe. With every inhale his stomach swelled slightly, and the waist of his jeans dug into the sensitive skin of his stomach; it was becoming more than painful. He could feel the beginnings of cramps begin in his gut as the added pressure made it difficult for him to digest his meal.

Rin’s eyes quickly scanned the crowded restaurant, taking in the cluster of people he called his current company. Around the table, the rest of his team were either engaged in amiable chatter or still idly picking at their plates. Momotarou was loudly recounting stories about his roommate a few seats down, much to the amusement of most of the team and the mortification of Nitori ( _”please don’t tell them that story, Momo-kun!”_ ). Overall, no one – aside from Sousuke – seemed to be paying Rin any mind.

Hoping he was being discreet, Rin’s fingers slowly began to work at the button of his jeans, struggling to get it unclaped through the rough fabric. It was much easier said than done – the material had stretched so much that Rin found it next to impossible for him to unbutton his jeans and alleviate the strain on his gut. Brow furrowing slightly, he curled his lip and continued to try to maneuver the brass button through the slit of his pants.

He was surprised by the sudden intrusion of another hand; rougher, quicker fingers deftly undid the button with ease, and he glanced up in gratitude to meet Sousuke’s smirk. “Trouble?” his friend inquired, raising an eyebrow, and Rin rolled his eyes.

“You’re laughing at me. You might not be on the outside, but on the inside you’re laughing and I hate you for it.”

“Sure you do,” replied Sousuke, leaning one elbow on the table and resting the side of his head in his palm, studying Rin. “If I’m laughing at you, it’s only because you brought it on yourself.”

Rin’s eyes narrowed, and he let out a huff as he adjusted in his seat. With the relief the unclasped button brought, the zipper of his jeans had slid down all on its own. Now his stomach hung out from his undone pants, his t-shirt riding up to reveal the lightly tanned expanse where his abs would usually be packed tight. Gently he ran a hand over the curve of his belly, and it let out another responsive gurgle. Eventually it had to all digest, didn’t it?

“I feel full as hell,” he muttered, not to anyone in particular; Sousuke picked up on it anyway. Of course, Sousuke was a damn sadist.

A wicked smirk danced on the other boy’s lips as he snatched several french fries off of his own abandoned plate, raising them to Rin’s mouth. Instinctively the overfed boy tried to turn his head away, but Sousuke was relentless. “Open wide, Rin,” he sang, in a tone so utterly unlike him that it made Rin automatically want to laugh aloud.

The second his lips parted, however, he found himself with a mouthful of fries; it was all he could do to chew, reluctantly, and force yet another lump of food down into his packed stomach. He let out a low groan, immediately followed by a loud belch.

 _That_ got the attention of the team. Because of _course_ it did. Rin cursed mentally, damning everything from Sousuke to his own stomach capacity, as the eyes of a handful of his teammates turned to him. He could practically feel their gazes boring him down, scrutinizing every part of him; from the flushed red of his cheeks, to his shallow breaths, to his exposed and bloated stomach. For a moment, silence hung over the table like a thick fog; even Sousuke didn’t look amused now, instead doing his best not to meet his friend’s eye.

And then, a reprieve came in the form of an idiot.

“Wow, Rin-senpai! That was a really good one!” Momotarou crowed, clapping enthusiastically, and unwittingly he managed to dispel any awkward atmosphere that had run the risk of forming. Another teammate rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the younger boy as Rin let out a subtle sigh of relief.

“Sure you’d say that, Momo. You can’t burp like that.”

“Bet you I could!” Momotarou retorted, hackles raised, and just like that the attention was off of Rin and back on the ever-conspicuous freshman. Sluggishly, it dawned on Rin that the table had hidden most of his debauched state from the rest of his team.

“You’re a bastard,” he muttered to Sousuke, who just grinned.

“Maybe, but you’re still the idiot who ate too much and now looks totally ridiculous,” he retorted; and, obviously not content to just let the subject drop (and let Rin’s suffering stomach rest), he caught the attention of a waitress passing by their table. “Can I get a soda, please?”

Rin let his head drop against the back of his chair and sighed. It was going to be, he suspected, a very long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sousuke is a mean friend.


	19. weight gain - oikawa tooru

“Iwa-chan, can you get me a cold compress?”

“Iwa-chan, fix my pillow _pleeease_?”

“Ice, Iwa-chan! We need more ice!”

“Iwa-chan, shut the blinds for me? I can’t see the TV because of the light! Oooh, better idea, do you think you could you maybe move the TV just a _bit_ closer…”

Hajime was going to commit homicide, and it would be all Oikawa Tooru’s fault.

It wasn’t like no one had warned the idiot against overworking himself -- Hajime had, _many_ times. And really, as an aspiring professional athlete Oikawa should be more responsible; pushing one’s body too far always had consequences, and they had both heard stories of athletes whose promising careers met premature ends at the hand of a devastating injury. It wasn’t as if Oikawa didn’t know, or that he was naive, or even stupid -- he _wasn’t_. There was no excuse.

That said, that one awful night -- when Hajime had gotten the phone call just before bed, had raced to the gym, had spotted Oikawa crumpled on the ground, trembling, in the middle of an abandoned court -- had been one of the most awful in Hajime’s life.

Of course, the weeks of recovery following Oikawa’s injury had been no walk in the park either. If Oikawa’s injury had been traumatic for him, his recovery was quickly becoming traumatic for Hajime. _Oikawa was asking him to do everything for him._

Two weeks. The doctors had told Oikawa to stay off his feet almost completely for two weeks. This could only result in a very frustrated and bored Oikawa Tooru; and whenever he got like that, he always took it out on whoever the most convenient target was. This was almost always Hajime. That’s the reason Oikawa seized every opportunity to make himself absolutely insufferable, from making Hajime adjust the furniture to his satisfaction, carry him around his house (and Hajime had done it, too, because Oikawa insisted he couldn’t manage with the crutches and he wouldn’t be able to get out of bed otherwise), and fetching him whatever he needed. He had even forced Hajime to spoonfeed him more than once (“Iwa-chan, I’m so exhausted from my recovery -- could you just feed me instead?”) And, without fail, Oikawa knew that whatever he requested, Hajime would do. Half of it was out of guilt, guilt over not being more protective and keeping Oikawa from overworking himself; the other half of the reason was that Hajime just couldn’t be a dick to an injured guy. Either way, Oikawa had his friend at his beck and call, and damn him if he wasn’t using it to his advantage.

It had been just over two weeks since the accident, and Hajime was convinced that if Oikawa didn’t get back on his feet soon, he was going to bully his legs back to working again by sheer force of Angry Spiker Rage alone.

Now, as Tooru pushed back the cleared plate Iwaizumi had set in front of him just a few moments ago and sighed, Iwaizumi’s eyes rolled of their own accord.

“Mmm, thank you, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sang, shifting in his position to lie back on the couch. It was clear how he favored his knee as he turned on to his side, shirt riding up generously to reveal the comfortable fullness of his stomach following Iwaizumi’s meal. “That was -- _ulp_ \-- great.”

Fighting off the urge to roll his eyes, Hajime leaned against the doorframe and simply waited. Doubtlessly Oikawa would be asking for something else in only a few seconds, sending Hajime off and running after whatever he desired this time --

“Iwa- _chaaan_?”

There it was.

“What?”

Oikawa picked his head up, pink lips pursed as he fluttered thick eyelashes up at him. Shifting slightly so he was lying on his stomach with his back exposed, he didn't break Hajime’s gaze, but he also didn't say a word.

“What? I'm not a mindreader, Shittikawa!”

Oikawa huffed, pouting, as if actually speaking was far too much effort for him. “Give me a massage,” he ordered, and then, at Iwaizumi’s raised eyebrows, “please, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi sighed, this time making sure to roll his eyes in full view of Oikawa; but, just as they'd both known he would, he stepped forward. Without saying a word he took his place at the end of the couch, leaning over Oikawa and carefully helping to ease the t-shirt up and over his head. Divested of half of his clothing, Oikawa seemed much barer, and might have almost looked vulnerable had it not been for the pleased little smirk playing on his lips.

“You're so nice to me.”

“Shut up before I crack your spine.” As if to prove his spite, Hajime dug his knuckles a bit too hard into the area between Oikawa’s shoulder blades. The injured boy let out a squeak that made Hajime grin.

(He wasn't sadistic or anything -- it was just so _fun_ when it was Oikawa. Up until he actually managed to hurt himself --)

Brow furrowing slightly in concentration, Hajime leaned over Oikawa’s back as his hands massaged smooth circles into lightly tanned skin. Oikawa’s back was hair broad enough, with fine shoulders and soft skin marred in only a few places by one of two freckles, and a small scar at the base of his spine from an accident as a child. He had gotten an eyeful of Oikawa’s shirtless back -- and much more -- in the locker rooms enough times over the years that somehow being this close to him didn't even feel so intimate. It felt almost… nice, in a way, listening to Oikawa’s soft hums of pleasure as he pressed into coiled muscles and slowly eased the lingering tension from his friend’s body.

For as often as he'd seen Oikawa’s bare back before, something now made Hajime’s hands jolt slightly; his fingers catching in rolls of skin pinched slightly along Oikawa’s sides. Frowning, he caressed the rolls, and Oikawa let out a soft sigh.

“You're getting fat,” Hajime observed, gently running his calloused hands along Oikawa’s smooth hips and sides. “You really are, you know that?”

Oikawa’s face colored faintly, and his lips twisted into a displeased frown as he refused to meet Hajime’s eyes. “I'll be back on my feet soon enough.”

“Not too soon,” Hajime chided instantly, the awful image of Oikawa crumpled on an empty court still fresh in his mind. Hastily, desperately, he pushed it back and found himself replacing it with something else -- an image of Oikawa, no longer slender but with wide hips, shapely thighs, and a filled out face stepping onto the court.

He didn't understand why his heart beat faster at the thought -- he tried to tell himself it wasn't important.

It wasn't just the rolls of chub building along Oikawa’s sides, either -- Hajime realized that Oikawa’s thighs were widening too, narrow hips growing thicker and muscular arms beginning to lose some of their density. He huffed out a laugh, hot air brushing Oikawa’s back, and the boy under him squirmed.

“You've been pampered so much that it's showing,” he teased, jokingly caressing Oikawa’s far from slender hips. Oikawa let out a quiet whine.

“I know, I know, but Iwa-chan’s the one who's been indulging me! You should feel guilty! Take responsibility!”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “And how should I do that?”

For a few seconds, Oikawa was quiet; then, picking up his head with a guilty wince, he said, “Help me turn over? And fix my pillow? Ohh, and could you get me a glass of water too, my _throat_ \--”

Hajime sighed and dug his elbow into Oikawa’s back. The resulting squeal was almost worth all his effort.


	20. stuffing/belly rubs - momoi satsuki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was for a Tumblr request for Aomomo, with Aomine stuffing the heck out of Momoi. Aomine has needs, okay.

It all started because a chain of restaurants was having a special _“Couples Eat Free”_ event. If there was one thing Aomine liked, it was free food. He also liked Satsuki, very much actually, especially since it took only the barest amount of convincing ( _not_ begging, certainly) to talk her into going on a lunch crawl with him.

It was actually good fun, for the first few restaurants they went to. They both knew that they made an attractive couple; sitting across from one another in a quaint little booth, their servers were more than happy to give them whatever they wanted. Aomine, of course, wound up taking advantage of their generosity. It was one thing to buy food, but to be practically handed all you could eat on a silver platter without having to pay was another thing entirely.

To say that he didn’t have a goal in mind would be a lie. He had talked it over with Satsuki; they had both been in favor of it. Sure, as a couple they had never tried anything like this before, but one virtue that was shared among both Aomine Daiki and Momoi Satsuki was that neither ever backed down from a challenge.

The first and second restaraunts, they matched each other’s pace in how much they ate. Plate after plate went by, being swiftly cleaned by two eager hands; by the time they left, stumbling out the door feeling comfortably full and warm, they didn’t miss the dirty looks the wait staff were sending them. Not that it mattered to them; they were welcomed at the next restaurant with open arms, smiles, and the full knowledge among both customer and staff that they would be taking advantage of the special discount.

At restaraunt number three, Aomine decided he’d had enough. His goal that evening had not been to overeat himself, though it would be far from the first time. Instead, he turned his attention entirely to Satsuki.

Satsuki kept eating. With every plate Daiki passed her way, she devoured the food hungrily, happy to dispose of any leftovers and then some. That was the plan for the night: Satsuki would keep eating, and eating, until she couldn’t eat any more.

By the time they got to the fourth restaurant, Daiki was far past the point of hungry; in fact, he didn’t even care about the food. All of his attention was focused on Satsuki, from the way her middle was straining beneath her buttoned up sweater, to her swollen pink lips as they parted slightly for panting breaths in between bites. He had never seen the girl eat so much before; he had known that Satsuki had an appetite to rival even his, of course, and had since they were children, but she’d learned to keep it well-hidden under the pretense of salads and health foods she claimed to be fond of. Daiki knew better than that.

“You’re doing great, babe,” he urged quietly, one hand finding her knee under the table. Slowly, his calloused fingers caressed her kneecap, wordlessly urging her on, and Satsuki responded just how he’d wanted her to: she kept eating.

“Oooohhh…” Finally, after her third plate at this restaurant ( _yes_ , Daiki had been counting), it was clear that Satsuki had finally reached her limit.

“I think –” She brought a hand to her mouth, biting down on her knuckles to keep what was probably a large burp from slipping out of her mouth. “I’m finished.”

They both rose to their feet (Satsuki supporting herself heavily against Daiki’s taller frame) and made their way out of the restaurant. The girl’s gait was heavy, breathing labored and strained. Her hips swayed as she walked, under the pressure of supporting her startlingly full stomach in front of her; Daiki could not keep his eyes from lingering as they made their way towards the car, and never had he been more grateful for having the foresight of parking in the closest available space to the restaurant.

Satsuki settled in the seat heavily, with a soft grunt as she did so; her taut belly settled atop her thighs, and she let out a groan that had Daiki’s hair standing on end. “Ohhh, Dai-chan… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this full…”

“Shit, Satsuki,” he muttered eloquently, still standing beside the open car door and blatantly gaping now. His girlfriend’s sweater was straining at its buttons, the hem riding up slightly to reveal a stretch of pale skin; the waist of Satsuki’s skirt had ridden past her stomach as well, leaving nothing inhibiting the roundness of her swollen figure. “You look… pregnant.”

“I feel like it,” she muttered, huffing and gripping her belly with both hands; her lips pressed together, probably to stifle another burp, before she inclined her head towards her seatbelt. “Could you? I don’t think I can do it myself.”

She was trying to kill him, Daiki decided, and she knew damn well what she was doing. Muttering under his breath and fighting the steadily growing heat in his groin, he caught hold of the seatbelt and began stretching it across Satsuki. He had to lean over her entirely, his chest pressing against her rounded belly, and the soft whimper Satsuki made in response only had his pulse race more.

The seatbelt caught, not quite fitting all the way around his girlfriend’s stomach. Daiki gave it another tug, harsh enough to tear it; but the thing was stubborn, even more so than a basketball prodigy with an attitude the size of Japan.

“Oh my goodness,” Satsuki muttered, and began laughing breathlessly. Daiki echoed her, feeling slightly lightheaded at the fact that this was _an actual thing that was happening in front of him_ , and how gorgeous Satsuki looked.

“I’ll drive slow,” he promised, hastily shutting the door and rounding to the driver’s side of the car before he could grow hard enough for his girlfriend to realize it. Not that Satsuki didn’t know, since Satsuki knew everything, but he still had some level of pride.

He did drive slow, but not slowly enough. Every jolt of the car or slight hitch of the road had Satsuki gasping, groaning and hiccuping in the passenger’s seat. Daiki, meanwhile, was struggling to focus on the actual driving, instead of the growing arousal pooling in the pit of his stomach.

It was no easy task, for sure. Especially not when Satsuki gripped his hand like that, sighed like that, pressed a strained burp into the back of her hand. By the time they pulled into the driveway, he thought it was a miracle he could even remember his own name.

Getting in the house was as slow going as leaving the restaurant had been. Satsuki could barely walk, and while Daiki would have scooped her into his arms on any other circumstances, now he knew for a fact that she would just be too heavy. Somehow the thought only made his pulse race more.

“You’re beautiful, babe,” he muttered as he fumbled with the door key, mouth running without him even realizing it. “So beautiful. Damn, you’re fantastic.”

Satsuki murmured her agreement, a wet burp following her words.

As soon as they entered the house, Satsuki made a beeline for the couch; Daiki caught her halfway, spinning her on her heel and diverting her to the bedroom. Satsuki grumbled, muttering something about, _“not so rough, Dai-chan, I’m struggling here,”_ but she didn’t protest as his boyfriend led her to the bed, settling her down gently. Even as Aomine’s rough fingers fumbled with the straining buttons of her sweater, she didn’t move to help him; once he had it stripped away, her blouse and skirt were quick to follow, leaving Satsuki in nothing but her undergarments curled up on the bed. Somehow seeing her like that, stuffed beyond sense, almost made Daiki lose control completely.

“Dai-chan.” Satsuki’s eyes narrowed accusingly, her nose scrunching up in that way of hers she’d always had, which Daiki had never failed to find absolutely endearing. “I hope you’re not planning on taking care of yourself before me.”

“I - I -” he stammered helplessly. “ _Fuck_ , baby…”

He knew what she was asking him to do. Almost carefully, he lowered himself onto the bed at her side, and he found himself unable to stifle a groan as she curled against him; her back was pressing against his hardness, and the friction was mind-numbing. Still, his hand managed to find her stomach anyway, and he slowly began massaging back and forth in slow circles over the rounded skin.

“Mmm…” Satsuki leaned further into him, pressuring his erection. “Dai-chan gives the best belly rubs.”

“Yeah I do…” he agreed, barely hearing her words over the buzzing in his own mind, Satsuki probably figured this; she also most likely didn’t care.

He continued to massage her belly, easing a few bone-deep belches out of her with minimal effort. When they were children, Satsuki had always been able to outburp him; even now, though they were quite grown, he realized she’d never lost that ability. Her bloated stomach rumbled underneath his touch, and it was enough to make her grind back against him again. He hissed a swear into the crown of her head, only to hear her tut.

“That isn’t – _uurp!_ – nice. Are you really that eager?”

He could only grunt his agreement, fingers digging in slightly as the coil of heat in his stomach tightened; the pressure had another burp bubbling out of Satsuki, surprisingly sharp. Her hand dug into the skin of his thigh, sharply manicured nails leaving serpent’s teeth marks against his skin.

“Mmm…” she groaned, curling in on herself slightly. “That’s good, thank you… like that.”

Daiki could only oblige, desperate to hear that moan come from his girlfriend’s lips again. It took a few more seconds, but eventually his skillful hands got Satsuki to comply. That moan nearly sent him over the edge all on his own, and he tensed against her, breath coming out heavily.

“I – I have to –” he rasped, brow furrowed intensely with pure need. Satsuki cast a glance over her shoulder, lips pulling up in a delicate cupid’s bow grin. An agonizingly long second passed before she finally nodded.

 _“Go,”_ she bid him, and he didn’t have to be told twice; scrambling off the bad, Daiki raced into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. His moans were audible as he jerked himself off, loud enough likely for Satsuki’s pleasure as much as his own. Alone now on the bed, the girl chuckled breathily before letting out another soft burp.

Of all the ways to rile up Aomine, this was definitely one of the most fun.


	21. soda drinking contest/belly rubs - matsuoka rin + tachibana makoto

Rin really, really hated soda.

It was too carbonated. It was too sweet. It made his throat burn and his stomach ache and it felt like drinking pure calories in a bottle. Soda, in his esteemed opinion, was gross. There was approximately _one_ brand of soda he actually tolerated, and even then he drank it mostly for the low sugar and high caffeine content than any actual taste for the stuff. Under any other circumstances – especially just before or after a match – he simply didn’t drink soda, and he was perfectly happy that way.

Eyeing the massive Sprite bottle resting on the table in front of him, it dawned on Rin – definitely not for the first time in his life – that he was making a really bad decision that was probably going to regret very much in the near future.

He’d spent almost an entire year of his life making bad decision after bad decision, and he hadn’t listened to that irritating little whisper of his inner conscious once. He definitely wasn’t about to start now.

“I… really don’t think this is a good idea,” Makoto spoke up from next to him, appropriately vocalizing what was already obvious to apparently everyone who wasn’t instigating this in the first place.

“Rin-chan says he’s good at things that aren’t swimming, and now he gets to prove it! And he gets to compete with you to do it too, Mako-chan! This is the _best_ idea!” Nagisa – the very one responsible for the current predicament of his friends – leaned forward, wearing a wide grin; his eyes shone with an unholy light that sent an ominous chill down Rin’s spine. Just as his eyes narrowed at the blond’s jab, the soda bottle was suddenly pushed closer to him, and the full intensity of Nagisa’s brightest smile was fixed on him.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Rin-chan!”

That was a _challenge_ , and Rin bared his teeth at the realization; there was no way he could back down now. He couldn’t concede to Makoto. There was just one way to get out of this with his pride intact, and that was to win.

Crimson eyes flickered briefly to his competitor; Makoto was staring at the bottle in front of him, looking very uncertain and more than a little trepidatious. He caught Rin’s gaze, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly in a smile that was much less than eager. Still, Rin returned the gesture with a tilt of his own lips, and Makoto’s hands found their position on his bottle. Rin followed suit, adjusting his grip so he would be able to lift it to his mouth quickly when the time came.

“Ready,” Nagisa chimed, “set… go!”

Rin took a deep breath, and chugged.

The soda was fine for the first few sips; then, suddenly, liquid fire was pouring down his throat. If he’d known chugging was going to burn this much he definitely would have thought this challenge through more. As it was, he could only manage to keep swallowing, trying hard to ignore the sharp pain spiking all the way down his throat as the carbonated beverage – which he already knew for certain his stomach was not built to handle – flowed it’s way into his mouth. He half-managed to fight off the urge to gag as amber sickly sweet liquid ran past his lips in thin trails, most of the stuff making it down his throat all the same. He scrunched his brow, focusing furiously on getting as much of the drink as he could down before inevitably having to stop for air.

When finally his lungs – and throat – could take no more, he pulled away with a gasp. He could barely hear the sound of Nagisa whooping and applauding over his own labored breathing, and almost fearfully he raised his eyes to the bottle – he still had over half a bottle left, and the thing had to be at least three liters.

As he continued to struggle to take in breath past his still-burning throat, his eyes were drawn to Makoto. The other boy split off from the mouth of his bottle just seconds after Rin, face flushed and his own breathing coming out slightly labored. Rin noted with satisfaction that Makoto apparently wasn’t as skilled at this as he was; he still had a fair amount left in his bottle, and the other’s eyes lingered on Rin’s emptier bottle with dismay.

“Man,” he muttered, massaging his throat with several long fingers and wincing. “This is harder than I thought it would be…”

“You’re telling me,” Rin muttered, inhaling deeply and letting the breath linger in his chest for a few peaceful seconds. He was regretting this already; just another reason why listening to Nagisa was always a bad idea.

Speaking of little shits, said blond was currently banging sharply on the table with one hand. “Mako-chan, Rin-chan, you can’t give up! Fight!”

“Ugh,” Rin muttered, shooting the younger boy a sharp glare; still, he picked up his bottle again, and Makoto followed.

This time chugging was both easier and _harder_ , if that was even possible. Easier, because he’d gotten used to the rhythm of downing a mouthful and then inhaling, keeping him from getting out of breath; and harder, because while his throat was finally getting used to the soda this was _not necessarily a good thing_ , and it was still burning like all hell.

He set his bottle down on the table again and immediately gasped for breath; this was a mistake. As soon as he opened his mouth the pressure of all the air he’d managed to swallow during his chugging suddenly bubbled up in his chest, and he wasn’t quick enough to shut his mouth again before a rolling belch escaped his mouth, loud and harsh.

Makoto actually stopped chugging his own bottle to gape; Nagisa looked as if he’d just won an Olympic Gold. “Wow, Rin-chan!” he exclaimed, grinning wickedly, and Rin felt the sudden urge to swing at the little brat until he was pleading for mercy.

“Shut up. What the hell are you grinning at? Just… shut up, forever.” Was he blushing? He couldn’t tell, but the heat that had risen to his cheeks told him he probably was. He knew it was only himself, Makoto, and Nagisa here, and neither of them could probably care less, but it was still embarrassing.

Just as this knowledge was really shaping together in his head, Makoto placed his bottle down in front of him. The larger teen leaned forward, brow furrowed uneasily, before he too let out a deep belch which seemed to reverberate in his broad chest.

Nagisa’s eyes bulged at the display from his usually reserved captain, and Makoto chuckled lightly. “Sorry,” he said, faint pink coloring his tanned cheeks, but the second Makoto caught his eye Rin realized what the other was trying to do – shoulder some of the attention from Rin, and show him there was nothing to be embarrassed over. Sometimes, Rin mused, Makoto was too good for his own sake.

Nagisa was considerate enough to give them both a few more minutes to recover. By this point Rin had managed to drain just a bit more than half of his bottle, and he’d be lying if he said his stomach wasn’t feeling uncomfortably full. With every movement he could feel the liquid in his belly sloshing, and the soda insisted he ease out a few more, softer burps. Makoto’s larger build was being crueler to him; with more room for air to be taken in, he was finding himself unable to hold back the loud stream of carbonated belches as they burbled from his throat. Each one caused a wince to grow progressively more prominent on his face, and Rin realized that he _had_ to be uncomfortable; but what mattered most was that his bottle was still less full than Makoto’s.

This continued on in the same vein for some time; chugging interspersed by short breaks, where Makoto would try to keep any belches to himself and Rin would find his own stomach growing more and more pressured with each gulp of sugary liquid. This was definitely more of a challenge than he’d anticipated; it wasn’t long before his throat felt like it was on fire, and his stomach was bloated and stretching out round and taut under his t-shirt.

Then, finally, the moment of truth dawned. With Makoto still not quite two-thirds of the way finished, Rin slammed his empty bottle down on the table with a hollow sound.

“Done!” he crowed, raising a fist in the air and swallowing back another burp. Victory tasted sweeter than the soda, and far more pleasant. As Makoto lowered his bottle to the table for the final time, seeming glad it was over, Nagisa’s eyes were huge as saucers.

“Wow! Rin-chan actually drank that whole thing! That’s so cool!” he crowed, voice bubbling with excitement. Then, with that familiar malicious gleam in his eyes that Rin had learned to be trepidatious of ever since grade school, he smiled demurely. “Aren’t you happy I got it all on camera?”

And that’s when Nagisa, beaming, held up his cell phone – a weapon of mass destruction which he had been keeping concealed in his pocket the entire time.

For an instant, Rin’s world froze in a horrifying flash-frame of betrayal and humiliation. A second later, he snapped.

“You little _bastard_!” Rin snarled, making a desperate and ill-advised lunge across the table. He almost caught him too, his fingers just grazing the front of Nagisa’s shirt before the brat promptly turned on his heel and sped off, cackling loudly. He knew what he’d done; it had been his plan all along, Rin realized, and honestly he ought to have expected it from Nagisa. The boy, for all his youth and babyface, was frighteningly devious. He would stoop to any low just to gain new blackmail material, and he and Makoto had played straight into his hands.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Rin muttered suddenly as the absolute _idiocy_ both of his naivete and his quick movement hit him all at once; no longer safely settled in his chair, he promptly overbalanced and landed on the floor beside the table. A hand clamped over his mouth did little to hinder his nauseous belch, and he dropped his head as his stomach sloshed and gurgled loudly with liquid.

He’d known he was going to regret this. He hated carbonation as it was; now his stomach was filled up with too-sweet drink and too-much air, and it was _far_ from happy. The redhead let out a groan, arms automatically moving to wrap around his abdomen. He felt full enough to burst; with every movement he was sure he was going to pop open like a balloon, or spill over like a fountain, soda pouring out of his mouth just as easy as it had flowed in. He didn’t just feel full, he felt _sick_ , and he clamped his lips tightly together to keep down any nausea that might try to rise in his throat.

“Rin?”

Nagisa might be gone, he realized, but that certainly didn’t leave him alone. From over the edge of the table he could see Makoto poking his head out, ever-warm gaze now filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

Rin started to chance a reply, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was a wet burp. Pressing his lips shut again with a muttered curse, all he managed to do was shake his head.

“Of course not… you really did drink a lot.” Makoto’s voice was heavy, not just with regret but sympathy; that’s what really felt like a kick to the chest for Rin. “I couldn’t have done it, that’s for sure… do you think you can get up? Back in the chair, at least?” Even as he said this, he had risen from his own chair and was now making his way towards Rin and crouching down at his side.

“Oh geez,” Rin muttered, squirming in place as he considered hauling himself to his feet again –thus maybe salvaging some of his dignity – but ultimately weighed it as too much trial and effort. He was pretty sure his dignity has run out the door after Nagisa and his camera anyway. “I feel so fucking full… and sick. Urgh.” Another burp tried to gurgle up his throat, but he quickly forced it back down.

Makoto made a pensive ‘hmm’ noise, considering. “Rin, maybe you should let your burps out. Letting go of some air might make you feel better.”

That was an idea, at least. Rin’s head tilted slightly to the side, considering; from where his t-shirt was riding up, he could see the swell of his bloated stomach pushing against his abs.

“I don’t know if…” he started, and then his brow furrowed. _“BuuuuRRRP!”_

Makoto’s lips turned up a bit, as if he were pleased. “That’s good! You see?”

“Mmm,” Rin replied, not particularly enthused; he was more focused on the tight fullness of his belly, stretched like a drum and filled up like a water balloon. His hand moved to tentatively stoke his own stomach, but he hesitated; this split second was all Makoto needed to step in.

“Rin,” he said quietly, nudging his hand aside with one of his own large, tanned ones; Rin’s eyes widened at the sudden nearness of Makoto’s hand to his stomach. His gaze drifted upwards, and he found the other boy looking somewhat uncertain.

“Is it… okay?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in an earnest expression. “Since you did really beat me, after all…”

Rin huffed a chuckle. “Returning the favor, huh?”

Nevertheless, he shifted into his side to allow Makoto easier access to his bloated stomach; the other boy didn’t miss a beat before his hand was suddenly across Rin’s taut skin, moving in a steady rhythm and massaging out the cramps with expert fingers. Involuntarily (and much to his mortification) Rin let out a low groan.

Makoto’s hand hesitated briefly, before he chuckled and continued. “It’s helping, then?”

“Ohhh yeah,” Rin replied quickly, unable to properly express his relief at the pressure in his stomach being slightly alleviated. At least, if not a master at chugging, Makoto knew what he was doing when it came to belly rubs. (Where had he gotten the experience? Haru? _There_ were a few interesting mental images.)

Rin muffled another burp into his palm and blinked up at the ceiling while Makoto continued his ministrations. So Nagisa had blackmail on him – so what? It’s not like it would be the first thing the blond had over him, nor was it likely to be the last.

After all, Rin thought, at least he was the victor. His pride was saved, and despite his suffering, that – along with Makoto’s belly rubs – was reward enough for him.


	22. drunk burping/bloating - iwaizumi hajime

Hajime let out a soft grunt, resting on his side and trying to focus his attention on the television screen. The blurred images danced before his eyes, all bright colors and noises that were too loud – a baffling show performed for an audience of one. Vision wavering, he shut his eyes, furrowing his brow as he did so – he really shouldn’t have had that last beer.

It would be one thing if tonight were any typical Friday night – but Tooru had left that afternoon, the university volleyball team going away for an almost week-long tournament. Left behind and feeling more than lonesome, Hajime had given into his less-virtuous impulses and brought out the pack of beer that had been buried in the back of the fridge. One beer had turned into two… which, Hajime now noted with some dismay, had somehow turned into six. Tooru would be mad when he came back to find that his boyfriend had drank all their alcohol, but currently – lying there in his beer induced fugue state – Hajime really couldn’t bring himself to care.

A particularly loud explosion sounded from the movie on-screen, and he winced; one hand fumbled across the coffee table, searching for the remote, and once he’d seized hold of it he was quick to mute the damn thing before he could really get a headache.

The silence that fell over the room was like a blissful reprieve. Free of having to focus on anything, Hajime shut his eyes and allowed himself to sink back into the couch cushions. It wasn’t long before the sluggishness brought on by the alcohol began to seep into his limbs, heavying his eyelids and causing his thoughts to drift far away. The darkness of the room was engulfing and utterly peaceful; immersed in quiet, Hajime barely even realized he was falling asleep before he was consumed by blackness.

The sound of the door opening roused him suddenly; a quick glance at the clock told him it had been less than an hour since he’d nodded off. Hajime fumbled, scrambling to sit up, but he couldn’t quite push himself all the way upright and wound up slumping back against the couch cushions. His eyes, wide and drunkenly bright, were trained on the figure in the doorway; he simply had to be hallucinating. The excess of alcohol had made him see things – or maybe he was even dreaming. That was the only way Tooru could be standing in front of him right now, when he was _supposed_ to be on a bus to Kyoto…

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru said quietly, eyes taking in the flushed figure of his boyfriend, the empty beer bottles littering the coffee table, and the muted television playing in the background. “I’m home.”

“What – why’re you here?”

“It turns out the tournament’s been postponed. It’s being held next weekend instead – it’s a major inconvenience for everyone, especially since we were already halfway to Kyoto when we got the news, but it’s better than getting there and finding out the hard way.” As he spoke Tooru eased his way onto the edge of the couch, tucking himself into his boyfriend’s side without hesitation. Hajime might have been drunk out of his mind, but at least he was still able to support Tooru – even if he didn’t say it, it was obvious he was disappointed about the tournament. He ran a hand through the other’s thick hair, half missing and dragging his palm along Tooru’s forehead instead. He didn’t seem to mind.

“You drank a lot,” Tooru observed, sounding curious, but not surprised. “Did you miss me that much?”

Hajime huffed, the remnants of his nap clinging to him and making him feel sluggish. The hour was obviously weighing on Tooru as well – it was past one in the morning. “Don’t like it when you’re not here,” he muttered, and the other man chuckled before burying his face in the crook off Hajime’s neck.

“Iwa-chan’s such a sap,” he teased; and then, just to get under his skin, added, “And he reeks of alcohol, gross! Did you bathe in it?”

“That wouldn’t be santia– sanitor – clean,” Hajime observed.

“True.” Reaching over, Tooru plucked one of the beer cans off of the table and shook it; there was still a slight sloshing of liquid inside. Raising an eyebrow he turned to look at Hajime, and his boyfriend immediately took the can from him. Tossing back his head, he drained the last of the alcohol in one gulp, and proceeded to let out a deep belch.

“Gross, Iwa-chan.”

“You’re gross, stupid,” he shot back, head tilting to the side; his shirt was riding up, exposing his abs and the swell of his stomach where the night’s excesses had already bloated it. The feeling was uncomfortable; he was even more aware of it when he felt Tooru lay a cool hand on his belly and begin to rub in slow, even circles. His ministrations did no favors for the amount of liquid in his stomach; before he was able to stop himself, Hajime burped loudly again, jolting with the force.

“Stop,” he muttered once he’d recovered, trying to shift away; Tooru was persistent, however, and his hands really were soft.

“Mmm,” he said at last, feeling his full stomach let out a gurgle beneath Tooru’s hands. The other man sighed affectionately, shifting his way down so his head could rest in Hajime’s lap. Very slowly he began to plant gentle kisses all the way up the rounded curve of Hajime’s stomach. His lips stopped just below his belly button, fluttering sensations ceasing for only a second, before he danced around it and started to trail his mouth over the still-defined ridges of his boyfriend’s abs.

This was too much for Hajime, who was already feeling far too bloated; he belched again, hot and wet, leaving a burning sensation in his throat and no reprieve for his stomach. His head tilted back as he sighed heavily, but he was suddenly distracted by the feeling of Tooru straddling his lap.

The feeling of weight pressing down on him caused him to let out a grunt, and he sleepily tried to knock Tooru off. His boyfriend pouted, bottom lip sticking out ridiculously, and Hajime’s halfhearted protests stilled.

“Iwa-chan, you know you love me.”

Leaning forward, he caught Hajime’s lips in an unexpected kiss. Hajime was taken aback; every instinct in his body was urging him to respond, but the pressure being put on his stomach by the full force of Tooru’s weight was too much. Slightly desperate, he twisted his head to the side as he felt an ominous gurgle in his stomach.

“Oikawa, don’t, I – _buuuURP_! You – _urrrp!_ I can’t — _buuuuRrrp!”_

In the short reprieve between belches, Tooru didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath; swooping down, he briskly caught his lips once more, and Hajime’s first instinct was to reciprocate in kind. Their mouths moved in tandem, half teasing and half desperation, until Hajime suddenly twisted away. Another belch was muffled against the crook of Oikawa’s neck, such close proximity leaving it with nowhere else to go; Hajime knew his face was flushed, though whether it was from the embarrassment or alcohol he couldn’t say.

Tooru hummed above him, resting his cool forehead against Hajime’s own; there was a glint of golden maliciousness dancing in chocolate brown orbs.

“Hajime,” he sang, and when his boyfriend’s lips parted in surprise, Tooru swooped down to steal yet another kiss.  
Hajime wasn’t able to hold it back this time; he was pretty sure he burped against the kiss at least a few times, sometimes managing to pull back for it to brush their lips, sometimes not. Oikawa’s hands were massaging deep into the bloat of his belly, and Hajime could feel a drunken lightheadedness start to set in just at the sheer overwhelm of sensation.  
Tooru’s hands halted him, however, when he started trying to remove his shirt.

“Iwa-chan, you’re very drunk.”

“Don’t care.”

“You will. All this is right now is playing. We can get closer later, when I don’t need to worry about you passing out while you’re on top of me.”

“I wouldn't… I wouldn't…” Hajime trailed off, brow furrowing in apparent confusion; he tilted his head, blinking, before his eyelids gradually started to grow heavier. Thinking too much was hard. “Wanted t’distract ya,” he muttered at last, voice raspy and words running together. Tooru huffed a gentle laugh, and pressed all his affection into a last kiss.

“You did,” he muttered, resting his head on top of Hajime’s chest. “Silly Iwa-chan, getting drunk like that – you know how fun you are to play with.”

Maybe by accident Oikawa shifted, and Hajime let out a groan at the pressure of his stomach. “Toor–” he started to say, it was cut off by another thick belch.

Finally, Tooru shifted to the side. Pressed between the couch cushions and Hajime now, he wasn’t directly on top of him, and this was the reprieve Hajime had needed. Even as Oikawa’s fingers gently brushed back and forth over his lips, and could feel himself slipping off to sleep again.

“Goodnight, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa whispered against his ear, and the last thing Hajime felt was the gentle press of lips to his cheek.


	23. clearing out a buffet - nishinoya yuu

“Go, go, Yuu, come on! You can do it!”

Nishinoya can do this. He totally can do this, he is doing this, and even as he starts in on what has to be his fourth plate piled high with food (it’s his fifth, actually, but he lost count a while ago) all he can really hear are the echoes of his friend’s cheers in his head, urging him on.

Tanaka is practically a one-man bullhorn; he’s not yelling, exactly, because that would without a doubt get them kicked out of the buffet, but he’s coming pretty darn close. His encouragements are still appreciated, because without them Nishinoya knows he wouldn’t be nearly as motivated to finish this.

It had been Tanaka who’d dared him in the first place – he totally couldn’t eat his way through an entire buffet. Noya had said, nah, he totally could, and Tanaka had then told him to put his stomach where his mouth was – he had to eat eight plates of food. If he got himself (and the rest of the team) kicked out of the buffet beforehand, he lost.

A less imaginative person would point out that Nishinoya stands to gain absolutely nothing from his victory except a stomach ache. Noya disagrees – he would also get bragging rights, and this alone was worth tackling the dare head on.

And he doesn’t even regret it – not after his first bite of food, and not even now, when his stomach is swollen and stretching his t-shirt tight, bulging out from his slight frame. His entire gut feels way too heavy, packed tight with greasy foods. But Noya isn’t slowing down, and he’s not losing steam; his eye is on the prize, and on not admitting defeat in front of his friend.

He stuffs the last piece of bacon in his mouth and pushes his plate away, victory shining in his eyes. Slapping the table with his hand, he grins through grease-stained lips. “What’m I on, Ryuu?"

“Uhh… fifth, I think?”

“You think?"

“No, I know! I’ve been keeping track!” Tanaka nods vigorously, and Noya decides that he has no choice but to trust him since he certainly hasn’t been keeping track himself. Ryuu grabs another plate from where he’d lined them up at the beginning of the dare, grinning as he shoves it within reach of Noya’s greedy fingers.

It’s definitely helping his case that Nishinoya isn’t any stranger to eating in bulk – he used to think that the more he ate, the sooner his growth spurt would hit him. He gave up on that somewhere around the tail end of middle school (but he’s still holding out hope for the growth spurt); yet his stomach capacity has yet to desert him.

Now however, Nishinoya has to admit that he’s pushing even his own limits. Even during his many binge eating sessions, he’d never eaten this much this fast. He can feel his stomach straining, uncomfortably full and heavy, and even through his hell-bent haze of determination he can still feel periodic cramps beginning to roll through his gut. He’s probably rounder now than he is tall, he thinks, a small smile appearing on his lips at the exaggerated image in his head. Still, he tears into his sixth plate with a vigor, shoving bacon and meat into his mouth as quickly as he can. He doesn’t stop to savor, doesn’t register the rich flavor a flooding his mouth; he’s doggedly focusing on finishing before it gets too hard for him to continue.

He pushes the cleared plate away, one hand coming to pay the hardened swell of his stomach. As soon as he does so a loud belch escapes his mouth, and he jolts with the force of it. Tanaka’ grin widens, and he pushes another plate forward.  
“Getting too full?” he asks, and Noya’s eyes widen viciously.

“You wish.” Sitting up is a strain, mate flailing than actual movement, but he somehow manages anyway. His stomach is a heavy weight upon him, making it almost hard to breathe through the fullness that throughly resists anything else being taken into his body; but Nishinoya is determined as he starts in on his seventh plate.

The food feels lumpy in his mouth, bitter and flavorless like he’s trying to swallow chalk. It’s still the same food he’s been eating all day, but with fullness finally setting in in earnest his body just doesn’t want to accept it. Noya writhes under the strain from his gut, forcing another mouthful of food down his throat. He belches again, wet and vaguely nauseous sounding, but despite signs of impending suffering later on he just knows that he can win this. Giving up is not an option.  
Even Ryuu looks impressed as he pushes the seventh plate away; clearly he hadn’t expected he’d make it this far. Nishinoya almost grins. He might be little, but he can still pack it away; there’s something about being underestimated that never fails to get his blood thrumming.

“Last plate,” he crows to Ryuu, slapping the table before belching again into his fist. His stomach gives a tiny groan, a testament to the amount of stress it’s under, and the very small part of Noya that hasn’t utterly devoted itself to victory is downright begging him to stop. Nishinoya will not be deterred.

He seizes hold of one of the pancakes on the plate, taking in the stack in front of him and steeling himself. This shouldn’t be so hard. If he can just fit half of an entire thing into his mouth at once –

He tries this and actually starts gagging, because that it way too much to force down his throat, and his stomach just isn’t having it. Shockwaves of pain are rolling through him now, and he braces himself against the table and let’s put a low groan around his full mouth. Will he even be able to get up after all this? The idea is debateable, and he mentally winces at the idea of having to be carried out of the restaurant because he’s too stuffed to walk.

“Yuu? Are you okay?” Ryuu’s voice drifts into his head, immediately putting an end to the slight pause. Nishinoya winds back up again, forcing a grin as he somehow gets the mouthful of pancake down his throat. It’s actual torture, but he slowly works his way through one after the other – food lying thick on his tongue, fighting him all the way down his throat. Finally, nothing remains. It takes a minute to dawn on him that he’s actually done it.

For a moment, Ryuu is in just as much awe as he is. Then he lets out a whoop, beginning to clap, and Noya basks in the feeling of his win. Victory tastes sweeter than any breakfast food, and it isn’t as awful going down.

“Nice!” Ryuu crows, clapping him roughly on the back. Noya jolts with a sharp burp, and the other boy grins. “Can’t believe you actually did it!”

“You shouldn’t have doubted me, Ryuu,” he manages.

Ryuu is on his feet, piling the plates up one on top of the other; they’d already paid, so they’re all but ready to go. He glances down at Nishinoya, noticing that he hasn’t moved, and places his hand on his hips. “Well? Come on, don’t you want to go brag about your awesome victory? One sure Asahi will think it’s cool, and imagine what Kiyoko-san will say –”

“Uhh. Ryuu.” Nishinoya’s voice is flat; he sounds kind of tired, in a way that isn’t characteristic of him. Tanaka cocks his head.

The very full boy looks up at him, brown eyes wide in his thin face. “I can’t get up.”

Tanaka throws back his head and, like the wonderful friend he is, laughs until his throat hurts.


	24. freshman fifteen/weight gain - tachibana makoto

When Haruka gets home late that night, he is unsurprised to find Makoto in the exact same spot he's found him every night for the past week -- hunched over at the kitchen table, his face buried in a textbook.

He is a bit surprised to find Makoto's face _literally_ buried in his textbook -- his nose has found a questionably comfortable niche in the creased of the book's spine, and the angle causes soft snores to escape him where otherwise he would be dead silent in his slumber. This latest development - Makoto, passing out in the middle of studying - is more than a bit disconcerting. Finals week have been pressing down on them both, but Haruka knows Makoto feels the pressure more than he does. He's devoted to his grades; every spare hour recently had been spent studying in preparation for exams, and Haruka is almost guaranteed to arrive home from his last class each night to find Makoto surrounded by empty takeout containers and well-looked-after notebooks. Usually Makoto at least has the decency to be awake to greet him.

Haruka huffs, but he's less annoyed than he tried to convince himself he is; wordlessly, he begins to clear away the mess around Makoto. The takeout containers go first, finding their home in the garbage bin. Makoto's notebooks are shut and stacked one on top of the other, his textbooks form a neat pile on the kitchen counter (even the one under Makoto's face -- he's such a deep sleeper that it wasn't even hard for Haruka to slide that one out from under him). All that's left is Makoto, hunched over the table in a position that can't be good for his neck and will doubtlessly create a crick in his back if Haruka lets him stay as-is.

Carefully, the boy places a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Makoto." No answer; he isn't surprised, but mutters his name louder anyway, with more force behind the word. "Makoto!"

This time Makoto groans softly, face shifting and squishing against the cool kitchen table. Haruka gives him a few seconds, counting backwards from five in his head; on three, Makoto's head pops up, emerald eyes blinking blearily at him.

"H- Haru? You're back already?" Sleepily he glances around, taking in first the cleared area around him and then the time displayed on the microwave. "Did I fall asleep?" he asks, in a voice so adorably baffled that Haruka doesn't even feel annoyed with the way Makoto's been pushing himself lately.

Well -- not _really_ annoyed.

He tugs on the boy's upper arm, and this is all the prompting Makoto needs to haul himself to his feet. He grunts a little as he does so, muscles in his back straining and shoulders shifting to accommodate the aches that have likely already formed. Haruka'a lips press into a thin line, and he heaves a sigh through his nose before turning on his heel and vanishing into the bathroom.

By the time he comes out a few minutes later, Makoto is already in bed. His shirt lies slung over the back of his desk chair; his jeans are in the laundry basket by the door. Wearing nothing but boxers, he is sitting up in bed, obviously waiting on something. Him, Haruka realizes, with a dull sort of not-surprise that resonates in his chest all the same. Makoto is waiting for him.

Even after nearly an entire semester of livin together in Tokyo - of dating each other - the idea that Makoto could be _waiting up_ for him is still somehow so surreal that Haruka struggles to accept it.

He must take too long -- seized by a sudden sense of disbelief, of wonder, of bliss -- because Makoto is the one to open his arms to him. He beckons, and Haru doesn't even think of refusing; moving forward, he lands snugly in Makoto's grasp as if he's fit there all his life. His boyfriend's muscular, soft arms twine around him, embracing his shoulders and holding him close to his chest. Makoto lays back, taking Haru with him, and the darker haired boy's head finds a pillow against Makoto's soft stomach.

"I'm sure I left some take out for you," Makoto says, voice soft. "I made sure to get enough for both of us."

Makoto hadn't left any take out. Where he had doubtlessly meant to leave it, his appetite had gotten the better of him yet again, leaving only empty cartons in his wake. Haruka knows this as surely as he knows college life has been running Makoto through -- he's never been the type of person to handle change well, and such a big adjustment has been hard on him. Classes leave him exhausted, it's hard work keeping up with the bills on their little apartment, and so when Makoto finds the time to eat, he eats.

His stomach has gotten much softer since they've gotten here, thinks Haruka warmly. Makoto still has most of his muscles, but beyond that a layer of thickness has wrapped itself around his middle, embracing his upper arms and rounding out his face. He's gotten chubby, realizes Haru, and the most amazing part is that he hasn't even realized it.

"Thanks," is all Haru say in reply, nestling his head deeper against his boyfriend's stomach and listening with satisfaction to the soft noise of content Makoto makes. When they're like this, so close, so intimate, Haru can't help but wonder how much he can get away with. Tentatively, he brings his hands up and begins caressing Makoto's belly.

The other boy makes a quiet sound of surprise, lifting his head to look down at him. The light is dim, but even so Haruka knows Makoto enough to be able to tell that he's blushing. "H- Haru, don't --"

_Ah,_ thinks Haru, _so he has noticed after all._

Makoto's hands bat halfheartedly at him, but Haru is persistent. "Stop," he murmurs, catching his boyfriend's larger hands in his own and covering them. "Makoto, let me look."

"It's embarrassing."

"No." Haruka shakes his head firmly; that's the _last_ word in the world he's use to describe Makoto's body. Makoto is beautiful, ever single inch of him. When there's less, when there's more, when he's big and when he was small -- Haruka can't think of a day when he didn't find Makoto beautiful, and he doubts that day will come soon. "Don't say that. Not about yourself. It isn't true."

Makoto blinks down at him, expertly reading between the lines. He can see what Haruka isn't saying, just as clearly as Haruka can feel that intense love oozing out of every part of him. He wants to engulf Makoto in it. He doesn't want him to ever thin he isn't beautiful again.

After a moment, Makoto lays his hands on Haruka's shoulders once more; his touch is gentle, and the boy can't resist the urge to lean in to him.

"I love you, Haru."

Just like always, Makoto is able to say the words that Haruka can't (doesn't know how to, maybe, or is afraid to) say. Just like always, Haruka presses himself closer to Makoto's body and tells him everything he needs to, all without saying another word.


	25. soda bloating - hazuki nagisa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this direct revenge for chapter 22, in which Nagisa tricked Rin into drinking copious amounts of soda. Rin doesn't lose easily.

Nagisa gave a very long, drawn out whine, dropping his head back against the back of the chair. His stomach gurgled loudly on top of him, and he jolted with the force of a sudden hiccup.

"Rin-chan's so mean!" he whined pitifully, pouting his lower lip out at the ceiling. "Such a sadist."

"You bet your ass I am." From where he was lounging in the other chair, one leg crossed coolly over the other, Rin bared his teeth. He wasn't quite grinning, but the look on his face made it clear he was pleased with his handiwork. " _You_ screwed with the wrong guy. If it was just Makoto it would have been fine, in a twisted way, because he's too nice to do anything back -- but _me,_ really?"

"I thought Rin-chan was my friend!" Nagisa hiccuped again.

"Sure I am. I also have a succinct lack of morals and a revenge complex. _Next,"_ he said, swiftly sliding another soda can across the table. Nagisa caught it easily, groaning once more. Tossing a glance over his shoulder, this time Rin actually did grin. "Rei, what are we on?"

Rei glanced down at the chart on which he'd been taking notes on the entire affair since Nagisa's first sip of soda. "This is the fifth can of soda. With twelve ounces in each can, and thirty three ounces in a liter, Nagisa-kun has nearly consumed two whole liters of soda."

"Hmm. Sounds about right to me." Ignoring Rei's indignant squawk that _of course he was right, his calculations were exact,_ Rin leaned back in his seat and watched Nagisa's throat bob as he dutifully chugged the next can down. A few long seconds passed before the blond broke away from air, gasping before burping sharply. Rin smirked.

"Remind me again, Rei, how much soda did Nagisa make me drink the other day?"

Rei tilted his head; _there_ was the root cause of all this, he knew. The only reason he'd agreed to be the one to help Rin cooerce Nagisa into doing this was because he knew firsthand just how much mischief the blond could cause. There was a part of him that even pitied Rin a bit - not that he'd ever say it to his face.

"Two liters," Rei answered dutifully, and Rin chuckled to himself before turning back to his victim again. "You hear that, Nagisa? We're gonna make you drink twice that!"

"Rin-san, we have less than three liters of soda."

"Oh. Well... you're gonna have to drink all of that, Nagisa!"

"So mean!" Nagisa exclaimed again, slamming the empty can down on the table with enough force to crush it slightly. Rei almost felt compelled to remind him that no one was making him drink all this soda -- Rin had literally told Nagisa to do it, and he had just complied. Maybe he thought it was fun; Rei honestly didn't get it, but then again, it was Nagisa. Knowing him, anything could be going through his mind.

...

Three cans later, Nagisa looked dead, and Rei was beginning to regret ever having agreed to this in the first place.

"Na-- Nagisa-kun?" Tentatively, Rei poked him with the tip of his pen. From where he was slumped unmoving over the table, Nagisa didn't so much as twitch.

Lips pursed, Rei raised his head to regard Rin helplessly. "It may have been a sugar crash?"

Rin's eyes narrowed. "Or," he muttered, quickly snatching Rei's pen from him and crouching down so that he was level with Nagisa's head, "he could be a cunning little bastard. Rise and shine!"

With that, he took Rei's pen and jabbed Nagisa sharply in the gut. A harsh burp escaped the blond's mouth, followed by a Yelp as he shot straight up. Rin sneered victoriously, passing the pen back to an unimpressed Rei.

"Nice try."

"Rin-chan, Rei-chan, so -- uUURP! So mean!" Nagisa clutched at his bloated stomach, the sound of sloshing liquid audible when he shifted to glare at both boys. Rei couldn't help but wince in sympathy; he hated feeling overly full, and knew that right now Nagisa had to be far from comfortable. But at the very least he didn't seem angry -- it was hard to make Nagisa genuinely angry.

"Yeah, whatever," Rin replied, smirk prominent on his face. "Good news is, you finished all the soda we had. Nice job, Nagisa. You outdrank me. Happy?"

At the news that his trial had ended, all the faux-consternation from earlier slid from Nagisa's face. Incredibly, he was actually _grinning._ "Very, Rin-chan!" he shot back, accompanied by another hiccup. The realization hit Rei with all the force of a pair of goggles to the face -- Nagisa hadn't doubted himself for a second. He'd gone along with their scheme because he knew he'd be able to outdo Rin's record.

A look of incredulity spreading over his face, Rei turned to Rin. The redhead had apparently come to the same realization a while back -- now he was just regarding Nagisa with a hard expression, brow furrowed and sharp teeth biting down hard on the inside of his mouth. In front of them both, Nagisa reclined back in his seat and sighed, patting his stomach with a loud burp.

"Rin-san," Rei said sympathetically, patting the other male on the shoulder, "with some people, it's just impossible to win."


	26. weight gain/stuffing - aida riko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This can kind of be considered a sequel to chapter 18, the last thing I wrote featuring Riko.

There's no way Riko isn't going to pick him. Riko _likes_ him better. It's as simple as that.

Well... alright, maybe she's never come right out and said that she likes Hyuuga best, but it's obvious sometimes. It's clear in the way she clings to him at night, the way she plants gentle kisses on his cheek and the underside of his jaw, the way her hands dig into the muscles of his back after a hard day -- and it's certainly clear now, with Riko eyeing the dish that had previously held his cooked rice and veggie platter was a sated and content expression.

"That was good, Junpei," she says warmly. "Really good."

Like the pest he is (or at least can be, at times) Kiyoshi pipes up from somewhere behind Hyuuga, "But! Mine is much better. The second you taste mine you'll have no choice but to declare me the winner!"

That's what all this was about, of course -- a contest. Riko had recieved an invitation last week to a very exclusive conference on spots coaching, and the invitation stated she was permitted to bring exactly one person. Kiyoshi really wanted that plus one to be him -- and so did Hyuuga. Finally, at some point one of them had wound up suggesting a test of skill: the one to make the best plate of food -- judged by Riko, of course -- would accompany her to the contest.

Hyuuga wasn't a hundred percent confident in his cooking skills, but damn him if he wasn't able to do better than Kiyoshi.

Kiyoshi steps forward and places his own plate in front of her. It's a steaming dish, focused around a large piece of meat drenched in some sort of juicy red sauce that Hyuuga would guess is probably sweet. Something like pasta makes up the rest of the dish, also covered in red sauce. It certainly looks good, Hyuuga must grudgingly admit. From the way Riko's eyes widen, she thinks so too.

"Dig in," Kiyoshi says with an over saturated wink, and Riko eagerly does just that. Hyuuga grits his teeth to keep from sneering.

Stepping back from the table, Kiyoshi winds up lounging against the wall next to him. He has that awful smug look on his face, the one he gets when he knows he's won something but isn't about to outright say it just to preserve the other's feelings. As if he's that much of a nice guy; Hyuuga rolls his eyes, frowning openly at the other boy. "Don't smirk like that. You haven't won yet."

"Hmm?" Kiyoshi turns to him, eyebrows raised in faux-innocence. "No idea what you mean!"

"You're smirking. You think you've won. You _haven't_. You're not the winner until Riko says you are."

"Still, I'm sure she will say I am. And I'm just saying that because it only makes sense! I've got more experience than you, I know how to make better use of my materials -- sorry Junpei, I'm just a better cook."

"Like hell you are," Hyuuga growls, and he can feel his brain dangerously close to switching to Clutch Time mode -- competitions always do get his blood boiling. 

"Are you boys arguing again?" Riko's voice from a few feet away shocks them out of their impromptu glowering contest. Both reel back towards her, Kiyoshi wearing a wholly innocent expression and Hyuuga smiling broadly in a way that doesn't look guilty at all. Riko isn't fooled, because Riko's not stupid.

"Man," she groans, setting her fork down in an empty bowl. "I can't leave you alone for two seconds, can -- _uuURP!"_

Eyes widening, she presses the back of her hand tight to her mouth. "E- excuse me. I may have eaten a... bit too much."

It's certainly nothing compared to some of the binges Riko's gone on them before; but looking now, Hyuuga can see how two comparatively large dishes might be a bit hard on Riko's stomach. Brow furrowing in sympathy he steps forward, but abruptly stops when he realizes something important. "Wait," he asks, eyes flickering between the plates nervously. "Who's the winner?"

Riko blinks doe-like eyes, delicately massaging her own stomach from over her shirt. "Hmm? Oh, the winner? Well, it was a cute contest and all, but I do think Kiyoshi wins. Not that your plate wasn't good too, Junpei, but his sauce was - _urp_ \- really good."

Hyuuga hisses, fist slamming hard into his open palm. Riko frowns.

"I really wanted to be your plus one," he mutters. He can feel Kiyoshi coming up from behind him, but he refuses to look back at that smug bastard's face. He can imagine Kiyoshi just glowing with victory, eager to taunt him with it in his face --

Strong arms wrap around him from behind, and he feels soft laughter pressed into his neck. In front of him, Riko is grinning as well.

"Oh Junpei, you honestly took that seriously?" Riko asks, eyes shining with amusement. "I'm one of the VIP guests! I called them up and explained our situation, and of course they agreed to let me take both of you!"

Some sort of tension that had been hanging over Hyuuga's shoulders abruptly slips away. The storm clouds clear; he is left feeling baffled and somewhat blank. "You... they... we can?" he asks slowly.

Riko starts giggling hard, but then hiccups sharply into her palm. Mirth cut short, she braces herself against the table with a wince; immediately, both Hyuuga and Kiyoshi are at her side.

"I feel really full," she mutters, round face turning up to look at both her boys. A small pout graces her face, the kind she'd never show to any of their old teammates -- one that makes her look vulnerable, but I a way where one can tell she's allowing herself to appear so. There's something ridiculously enticing and so very _Riko_ about it. Hyuuga bites his lower lip as the sudden urge to do absolutely anything for her seizes him -- it dawns on him in that moment, as it has many times before, that he's in way too deep.

"Here," he mutters, and very gently lowers his arms under her to hoist her out of the chair. Not to be outdone, Kiyoshi automatically begins clearing the remnants of Riko's meal from the table. Hyuuga holds his plump girlfriend to his chest, and she wraps her arms around his neck as he carries her into the bedroom. Laying her gently atop the bedspread, he steps back; but Riko herself makes short work of her own shirt and jeans, leaving her in just her undergarments. Arms reach out to him, coaxing, pleading, and Hyuuga's mind hits a momentary blank. The next thing he knows Kiyoshi is reentering the bedroom, Hyuuga's own shirt has been discarded on the floor, and Riko is pushed up against his back as he steadily massages her full stomach with both hands.

Kiyoshi raises his eyebrows. "I haven't missed anything, have I?"

"You won't," Hyuuga replies firmly, and Riko agrees with a hiccup of her own. She's too stuffed to even consider anything more than cuddling. Fortunately for them all, cuddling is one of their favorite ways to spend their quality time.

Kiyoshi breaks into a wide grin; his shirt is sent to join his partners' on the ground, and within seconds he is laid out in front of Riko, hands working where Hyuuga's are not. He caresses her soft sides, the warm swells of her breasts over her bra, the curves of her hips and roundness of her cheeks. His hands longer every so often just to admire. The way Kiyoshi's eyes shine with pure reverence when he looks at her suddenly makes Hyuuga want to kiss him very badly -- he manages to refrain, uncertain of where it might lead. Riko sighs contently under the touches of them both.

"I love you," Hyuuga whispers, gaze caught on both Riko and Kiyoshi. While he can't see Riko's face, he knows that Kiyoshi grins back at him. In a way, he supposes, that the only sort of victory he needs.


	27. stuffing - kuroko tetsuya + aomine daiki

**AN: Why not both?**

"Kagami-kun..." Kuroko struggles around a mouthful of food and is forced to pause, swallowing and swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before speaking again. "I've finished."

Kagami is quick to comply. Snatching the nearly-empty plate away from Kuroko, he quickly replaces it with yet another, piled high with more heavy foods. Kuroko's eyes gleam with anticipation as they take in the stack of burgers in front of him; and Kagami is unable to help the way his lips quirk in a half-grin. It really does feel good to be cooking for someone who _appreciates_ it.

As opposed to the other person in the room, who was busy digging into Kagami's cooking and yet hadn't paused to thank him once. Really, Kagami didn't understand why they'd had to invite Aomine anyway -- if he had his way, he'd prefer to keep the crass Teikou alumni about as far away from his home as humanly possible. Aside from the disconcerting knowledge that Aomine now knew where he lived, the guy was a natural slob and an obnoxious eater to boot. Kagami's table was already littered with food crumbs and fallen burger bites. Of the copious amount of food he'd made since his two guests had got here, Aomine had to have eaten at least three-fourths of it. He had left enough to fill Kuroko's stomach, but he certainly hadn't bothered to mind his manners. Kagami, the one who had slaved for hours making all the food, couldn't help feeling a bit irked. (The argument could be made that he felt irked any time he was around Aomine; he wouldn't even try to argue with it.)

"Aomine-kun was very hungry," observes Kuroko placidly, lifting another burger to his mouth. At the sound of his name Aomine goes still, glancing up at them. His furrowed brow makes him look challenging, but his cheeks -- distended with unchewed food -- somewhat ruin the effect. He looks like a chipmunk, Kagami thinks smugly; the sight is so ridiculous and unattractive that he has to smother down a guffaw. Aomine is sharp enough to catch him anyway, and shoots him a glare.

"Eh," he drawls, "not the best burgers I've ever tasted. Ryou could do better."

"Aomine-kun once set canned soup on fire."

Aomine chokes, and -- with no small amount of satisfaction -- Kagami takes the opportunity to another platter of burgers in front of him. The blue boy doesn't even pause -- it almost seems like he doesn't register the new plate set out in front of him, if the fervor with which he digs in is anything to do by.

In his seat, Kuroko is casting wary glances towards the remainder of the burgers; he may have passed his limit a while ago, but that hasn't stopped him, and now a persistent sore ache has developed in his distended belly. He lets out a huff, reaching down and starting to massage his stomach gently.

Kagami notices; he can't help but watch out of the corner of his eye, observing the uncomfortable boy's movements. What really catches his attention are the strained little huffs and gasps for breath Kuroko makes when he sits up straighter, arm wrapped around his stomach. He looks sad to stop eating, but it's clear that if he eats one more bite he might very well burst.

"Kagami--" he begins, but his cut off by a sharp and loud belch. The unexpected sound has his pale cheeks flushing, hand coming up to cover his mouth; tentatively, he pushes the plate away from him and looks up at Kagami with wide eyes.

"I've eaten a bit too much," he says quietly. Kagami nods.

"Yeah -- sure. Just relax there, I'm sure you'll feel better in a minute." The shock of hearing Kuroko of all people burp so loudly still has Kagami sort of taken aback -- but that can't last long, not when Aomine is so focused on making a pig of himself just feet away. The sounds of gulps and loud chewing seem to fill the room, and it isn't long before both of the other boys' eyes are drawn to where Aomine is still tearing into his burgers ravenously.

Kuroko shifts in his chair, spreading his legs out in front of him and leaning back to give his stomach more room to settle. His white t-shirt is stretched enough that it reveals a strip of bare skin, and while the decent part of Kagami really wants to pull his friend's shirt back down, the other part of him insists that here's no harm in staring, just for a little while.

If Kuroko catches Kagami's eyes lingering, he doesn't say anything -- he rarely does. Instead he simply raises an eyebrow, but Kagami can hardly gauge what this means coming from such an inexpressive face. He huffs, rolling his eyes, and Kuroko's mouth twitches back. It's not a smile, not even close, but Kagami still feels like he's being scrutinized and can feel his neck begin to heat up.

Finally, though, a distraction appears: Aomine is showing signs of slowing down. His plate is all but cleared, and the hearty basketball player, while looking pleased with his success, also looks very full.

"Umm... hey, I don't..."

Aomine trails off, face contorting as a deep belch tears from his chest. Huffing, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shifts in his seat to look at the other two. The way the movement jostles his stomach is more than a little uncomfortable; his bloated gut presses against the sides of the chair, and he can't help but wince. "I'm really not feeling great right now," he mutters, gruff tone underlaid by a slight whine. "I ate way too much..."

Kuroko, despite not being far off from Aomine's state himself, still had that little sadistic streak in him that Kagami loves seeing directed at anyone besides himself. The shadow tilts his head. "Is Aomine-kun sure he can't eat any more?"

"That's pretty weak," Kagami goads, casually spinning another plate of burgers in circles on the tabletop. "I could eat twice that amount in my sleep."

Aomine has never been able to turn down a challenge from Kagami, and certainly not when his own pride is on the line. His eyes narrow, and before either Kagami or Kuroko have a chance to stop him he's reaching for another burger and shoving it into his mouth at once. "Don' be stup'd," he says, words forming clunkily from his full mouth. "I can beat you any day."

So, Kagami sits back and allows Aomine to prove just that. The other boy tears through burger after burger, ignoring the groaning of his stomach and the obvious displeasure in his gut at being packed so full. He hardly pauses for breath, seeming to think that if he can keep up a rapid pace he can outeat even his own body. This method, of course, lasts as long as it takes for the stomachache to set in.

That's when Aomine's slumping over the table, groaning loudly, one hand wrapped around the very prominent bulge of his stomach. "Shit. I -- ulp -- overdid it," he proclaims, and no one actually feels bad enough to console him for it.

"It was his fault," Kuroko decides, rubbing his own stuffed belly as he glances up at Kagami.

The cook nods in response. "Definitely."

Aomine lets out a wet belch, as if adding his own two cents to their conversation. His head rests on his forearm, and he is the dictionary definition of pitiful. Somewhat tentatively, Kagami places a hand on Aomine's back; the other boy lets out a long groan, cut off only by another burp.

"There's a... couch," he suggests, almost timid (he honestly does not want Aomine on his couch, but he's in his house anyway so Kagami figures he's fighting a losing battle). "If you want to lay down..."

"Yeah." Aomine picks himself up, mouth pinched tight and movements unsteady; his hips bang against the table and he pulls himself to his feet, staggering a bit with each heavy step towards Kagami's couch. It's only about ten feet, but he downright collapses when he gets there -- nearly landing on top of Kuroko, who'd made himself comfortable on one of the pillows a while ago. The blue haired boy frowns disapprovingly at Aomine, who seems dead to the world after having found his newfound comfort.

"Aomine-kun, get off my legs."

Wordlessly, Aomine turns and manages to flip onto his side, stomach burbling loudly as he does so. Kuroko sighs, running a hand over his own belly -- and maybe, somehow, his other hand find's Aomine's stomach too.

Kagami simply watches, stacking up empty plates from the table and frowning slightly at the mess. This is the last time, he decides, he will ever get talked into inviting another member of the Generation of Miracles for dinner.


	28. burping - takao kazunari

Takao's been trying all day to tell himself he doesn't feel sick. Unfortunately, _saying_ it to himself and actually _meaning_ it are two very different things - he's clever enough to know that, at least. He could go around saying that he has a sister living in Peru; he could decide he has the superpower to incinerate things with his mind, and start acting accordingly. But he doesn't, he never has, and if he started acting like either of these things really were true people would probably just assume he's crazy.

At least he doesn't feel nauseous. Takako can't stand feeling nauseous, and over the years he's trained himself to be hyperspace of it. But there's no weird churning in his stomach, no lingering feeling that he's going to be sick. What there _is_ is a baffling heaviness -- almost like a he ate way too much, or a large boulder has settled itself in the pit of his belly, filling him up and causing him to be crampy and uncomfortable all day long. It's gotten worse since school ended, though; now, instead of just heavy, he feels downright bloated.

He feels sick, he feels gross, and the thought of spending all afternoon running around practice kind of makes him want to cry.

He doesn't say anything, of course -- who would he complain to? He isn't really sick, and he's definitely not some weakling who can't handle a little adversity -- he'd run ten laps in the middle of a thunderstorm once, and the amount of times he'd slipped in the mud not included he's pretty proud of that accomplishment.

But his muscles feel sore, his stomach is bloated uncomfortably, and all he really wants to do today is go home and sleep it off. He can't do that. Of _course_ he can't.

"Takao."

The boy looks up suddenly -- he'd been so distracted by his own thoughts, sitting in the locker room and absently swinging a towel back and forth between his knees, that he hadn't even noticed that the rest of the team had gone upstairs already. He fights back a wince as he meets Midorima's gaze. Midorima hanging around him right now can only be a bad thing; either he'll think Takao's just being an airhead and act extra pissy with him all day, or he'll be having one of his "perceptive days" and actually realize that something is wrong. Takao honestly doesn't know what would be worse for him, and wonders briefly if he could just ask Midorima nicely to buzz off for the day and leave him alone.

This is Midorima, he reminds himself -- he cares about _nice_ exactly as much as he cares about France's nuclear codes (which is to say _not at all_ \- or, if it turned out he did, it would come as a pretty unpleasant shock to most people). Instead Takao forces what he hopes resembles his usual smile, dropping the towel on top of the bench and shrugging up at the other boy.

"Right, Shin-chan! Sorry!"

Midorima quirks an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

 _Ah,_ thinks Takao flatly, _perceptive day it is, then._

"I'm fine!"

"You're acting strangely."

Midorima is eyeing him with suspicion, and Takao almost feels the urge to laugh out loud -- _Midorima_ telling him _he's_ acting weird. Oh, the irony stings like a basketball to the face.

Instead of laughing, however, he raises an eyebrow and tries not to let his own discomfort shine through his facial expression. "There's nothing wrong," he replies, rolling his eyes as if the entire line of questioning is some great burden for him -- maybe if he's lucky Midorima will just drop it. Unfortunately, if Midorima lacks any two things, it's a sense of social tact and the knowledge of when to quit; and Takao's stomach decides to betray him at that exact moment by making a funny sort of burbling noise that suddenly leaves him feeling more bloated than ever.

Midorima raises an eyebrow, staring at Takao skeptically. The point guard blinks a few times, and then shrugs.

"It's no big deal," he finally admits. "My stomach feels really weird. So what?"

Midorima's fine features twist up into something torn between disdain and scientific curiosity. "For how long?"

"All day," Takao replies, and lays a hand on his belly; it actually feels a bit distended, he realizes, and bites back a groan as the touch sends another cramp racing through him. _Ouch._ He doesn't have a particularly low pain tolerance, but that really hurts, and it's hard to keep from wincing. The thought of practice is beginning to feel more and more like torture.

"It's obviously bothering you," Modorima observes. "Have you tried taking antacids? You could just have gas, if you don't feel nauseous. Either way, it would be unwise to push yourself when you're feeling unwell."

What is he, a doctor now? Takao crinkles his nose. "I haven't taken antacids, because I don't have any. And I wish it were only gas, but I can't --" 

He cuts himself off, lips pressed tight into a frown. Midorima, he figures, is the type of person who'd scold him for being vulgar if he brought it up. Either way, the fact remains that Takao hasn't been able to burp once all day -- and from the feeling of his stomach, he really does need to. He isn't about to confess that to Midorima, however, since not only is it sort of embarrassing but he really doesn't want the other boy giving him one of those patented repulsed glares again.

"You can't burp?"

Even when he's not looking at him, Midorima's tone is enough to crack glass. Takao winces slightly, and he isn't sure if it's from the cramps or the waves of judgement he can feel radiating off the other boy.

"No," he replies simply. "I haven't been able to."

He expects it to be left at that. It should really, because for most normal people there would be nothing they could do, no help they could think of giving besides a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and a few well wishes. Even if Midorima is hardly a normal person, he still dislikes touch, and it's something Takao knows the other by tries to avoid as often as possible.

That's why Takao is totally floored when Midorima takes a seat on the bench next to him, and instead of giving him an utterly out of character pat on the shoulder, Midorima does something even _more_ unexpected. 

The second Takao feels cold hands come to rest on his stomach he jumps, twisting and squirming to try to catch a glimpse of Midorima behind him. Looking back, he realizes that the other boy is intently _glaring_ at Takao's belly (it's a little scary, actually); Takao almost thinks he catches a slight flush across Midorima's pallid cheeks, but that could just be the light.

"S- Shin-chan? What are you--"

"I'm helping you, Takao." Midorima's voice is low, chilled. "I don't have to. Hold still."

He _doesn't_ have to - which sure doesn't explain why Midorima is actually doing it. Before Takao gets the chance to protest, however, he feels Midorima's icy hands easing his jersey up to find the soft skin of his stomach, and there's something about their coolness that feels just good enough that Takao can't bring himself to pull away. He hears Midorima's soft humm of disapproval, fingers pressing into the swell of Takao's stomach, and he can feel a flush rise to his face.

"Yeah, I told you... I'm really bloated."

Midorima presses into his raised abdomen, and Takao can't help but give a little groan -- and suddenly he's very glad Midorima can't see his face, because _wow_ that's embarrassing. This whole thing is already weirdly intimate, and now he's moaning like a freaking porn star while Midorima's got his hands on his belly. If poor Shin-chan'a delicate sensibilities aren't in tatters right now, Takao thinks it would be a miracle.

But Midorima presses down again, and another cramp shoots through Takao's stomach. His mouth opens in pain and this time he does manage to burp, shallow and short. The pain has him pressing his chin to his collarbone and wincing, even as he hears Midorima make a quiet approving sound from behind him.

"Good," the other boy says shortly, and presses down again with one hand; the other one comes down, gentle but firm, right in the small of Takao's back. Takao jolts, and manages to burp again; this time, a few belches slip out following each other. His stomach is starting to feel lighter as the pressure from built up gasses is released, and he can feel Midorima massaging his hand into the soft bloating there. It should probably feel weirder than it does.

"Shin-chan, you're -- _uuurp!_ " Takao cuts himself off with a burp, immediately biting down on his knuckles. He has to remind himself that this isn't embarrassing, but it's hard to feel like any of this is normal when it so obviously isn't.

Maybe Midorima can sense his hesitance, because he abruptly backs off; his hands pull away, leaving the spot they had lingered on Takao's skin feeling chilled. Whatever Midorima had managed to do, however, seems to have worked. With his hand still pressed to his mouth Takao muffles more burps into his palm. As he belches up hot air, he can feel the heaviness in his stomach gradually growing lighter; he isn't quite ready to meet Midorima's eyes, not quite yet, but he slumps forward in relief when the last soft burp that escapes him leaves him feeling considerable less bloated than he had before.

Midorima doesn't speak for a while, and Takao is glad for it. He takes a moment to catch his breath, massaging his own stomach with one hand. It still aches faintly, but the distention that had been there has certainly gone down. With the relief he'd found, Takao realizes he no longer feels quite as sick.

He isn't sure what's more surprising -- that burping had actually worked, or that Midorima had helped him.

"Thanks, Shin-chan," he says quietly, venturing a glance over at the green haired boy. Midorima's eyes widen imperceptibly; clearing his throat, he pushes up his glasses before rising to his feet.

"It was something you really should have been able to handle on your own," he retorts, turning away from Takao. The other boy is hardly fooled; he's used to Midorima's tsundere act by this point. (It's the nicer, helpful side that he has apparently yet to become well acquainted with. This will have to change, Takao thinks.)

Midorima stomps up the locker room stairs, and as he opens the door Takao pulls himself to his feet. As Midorima leaves, Takao is hot on his heels.

"Hey, Shin-chan!" he calls out, and the lightness he feels in the pit of his stomach is nothing short of a relief. "Wait up!"


	29. liquid bloating - oikawa tooru

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my cousin told me it's impossible to drink a gallon of milk without getting sick. I disagree. So does Oikawa.

"Mmmph... ughhhh..." Tooru drew away from the milk carton and groaned, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle a belch. If he was being honest, he wasn't sure what was heavier right now -- the weight of his stomach in his lap, or the milk carton perched on his knees. "Am I finished yet?"

"No," Hanamaki said helpfully. "Not even close. Keep going, we're still filming."

Tooru moaned again, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand; his face contorted in disgust as he felt a wet stream of milk that had run back into his hair. Chugging a gallon of milk wasn't just hard, it was messy.

"Why do I have to do this again?" he asked flatly, lifting the carton again. His stomach groaned, feeling gurgly and packed tight, and he was beginning to regret ever accepting this challenge in the first place.

"You're like... one of the last people on the team to do this."

"You two have done it?"

"Sure we have."

"Iwa-chan hasn't. Kindaichi? Kunimi? They've done it too?" 

"Yeah, totally," Matsukawa waved a dismissive hand, aiming his phone from another angle -- he was filming this, and Tooru could only pray the footage never got around to his fan club. "We said you're _one_ of the last. Stop talking, start drinking."

"You two are mean!" he pouted, but if he was being honest with himself Oikawa Tooru didn't know how to turn down a challenge. Sighing, he raised the carton to his lips once more and forced back another round of chilled mouthfuls. The liquid settled in his stomach heavily, adding to the weight of his earlier lunch plus all the milk he'd already consumed -- it felt like he'd been doing this for hours. His belly was packed full, and he didn't have to glance down at his shirt to know that it was starting to distend; milk had always bloated him, and he was sure that once he was finished he was going to wind up with the stomach ache of the century.

Lowering the gallon again, Tooru gasped for air and almost immediately belched, gurgling and wet. Pressing a hand over the lower half of his face, he avoided the eyes of his two "friends" as they chortled.

"Niiiiiice, Oikawa!" Hanamaki called. Tooru stuck his tongue out at him, acting like a mature adult be damned. These two wouldn't know mature if it kicked them in the teeth.

Pausing for a moment, he laid a hand on his stomach and gently started to massage himself through his shirt. The lowermost buttons were starting to strain ever so slightly; fine peach skin could be seen peeking out from underneath the tight fabric. Tooru's stomach was stretching more and more with every mouthful, growing rounder and more taut with the increasing amount of liquid he was forcing into his stomach. His brow furrowing, he swallowed back down another soft burp and tried hard not to think how gross and bloated he would look after this. This was the _last_ time he ever accepted a dare from the Terror Twins."

"Oh ho, slowing down?"

Tooru shot Hanamaki a sharp glare. "Never," he retorted quickly. "I -- _aaaURRRRP!"_

That had been the biggest burp yet; even Tooru felt blown off his feet, eyes widening and face going a funny shade of pink as he shrunk away from his friends. "I -- I'm really sorry," he muttered, his throat burning.

Matsukawa's own mouth was hanging open in disbelief; meanwhile, Hanamaki was cackling.

"Oh -- my god! Mattsun, did you get that? Tell me you got it!"

"I got it," Matsukawa affirmed, retraining the camera. Either out of embarrassment or sheer desperation at this point, Oikawa turned hastily back to the milk gallon and tipped it up to his lips once more.

He could feel the liquid running cool down his throat, streams escaping the corners of his mouth and trickling along the side of his jaw. As he forced each mouthful down he could feel his stomach growing tighter, packed round and full with chilled liquid. The milk was heavy and hard to swallow, but Tooru forced down gulp after gulp -- past the mounting feelings of fullness and borderline nausea -- until to his own surprise he realized there was no milk left.

Panting, he lowered the gallon and dropped the empty carton to the ground. It hit the floor with a dull clatter; not caring that Hanamaki and Matsukawa were watching anymore, he brought both hands to his bloated stomach. He was _far_ too round and full; he could feel his buttons straining to the point of bursting, and his belly sat in his lap heavily. When he moved, he could clearly hear the slosh of liquid in his stomach, and it made him feel halfway nauseous; he burped helplessly, bit down on his lip, and then burped again through his teeth.

"Wow," Hanamaki muttered from somewhere in front of him -- Tooru was honestly past the point of caring. "Breathe, Oikawa. You're okay."

"I feel so heavy," Tooru groaned, and then hiccuped into his fist. Hanamaki stepped out from next to Matsukawa -- who had gratefully lowered the camera at this point -- and approached Tooru, reaching out a tentative hand.

"You just drank a whole gallon of milk," he muttered, eyes lingering on Tooru's bloated belly. "Holy shit."

"You said it was -- ulp -- something you'd both done!"

"We tried it, doesn't mean we actually managed it." Matsukawa was hastily adjusting the pillows on his parents couch; laying an hand on Tooru's shoulder, Hanamaki was surprised by the way the other boy keened into his touch. Taking this as a sign of encouragement, he fixed both hands under Tooru's arms and began to gently haul him up.

It took a few tries, but they managed to get Tooru to his feet; his stomach gurgled at the unwelcome movement, and he burped piteously against his knuckles. Hanamaki helped guide Tooru to the couch, where he all but collapsed against the pillows. Head dropping back, he sighed deeply and showed no sign of moving anytime soon.

"Do you... feel okay?" Matsukawa ventured.

"Not really... really full. Tired."

Hanamaki and Matsukawa exchanged disbelieving looks. "... take a nap," suggested Matsukawa after a moment, and Tooru hummed a soft "yeah." That's where they left him, collapsed across Matsukawa's couch, as the two beat a hasty retreat to start cleaning the kitchen.

"I don't believe it," Hanamaki kept saying, mopping up spilled milk with a handful of paper towels. "He actually did it... I don't believe it."

Matsukawa dumped the empty gallon in the trash bin, expression deadpan. "Next time," he said, "we're getting one of the first years to do it."


	30. stuffing/stomachache - mikoshiba momotarou

As captain, Rin likes to think he's a reasonable guy. He doesn't get mad over petty things; he knows how to keep his cool in tough situations; he isn't a hard-ass.

That's what Rin likes to think, at least. Other teammates (read: Sousuke) might say that's all absolute shit, but in the end Rin is the captain anyhow, and his word goes. If he says he's a good captain, then he _is._

When a teammate is almost half an hour late for practice, however, Rin _knows_ that he has a good reason to be mad. Samezuka swimmers do not just skip practice -- they give prior notice, and (especially when they're not even a week away from a tournament) they had better have a damn good reason. But Rin hadn't recieved any prior notice of absent swimmers today, and he hadn't been fed any pathetic excuses, either. Somehow -- out of all the people it could possibly be -- Rin doesn't find himself surprised that Momotarou is the problem child.

"Ai!"

He flags down the first year's roommate in the middle of practice; Nitori stiffens, shoulders going tense as the towel he had been dragging through his hair goes still. That's when Rin _knows_ something's up.

"Well? Where's Momo today?"

Nitori blinks up at him, eyes wide and somewhat desperate. "I -- I don't know, captain!"

Oh, like _hell_ he doesn't know. After sharing a room with him for almost a year Rin's gotten well-versed in Nitori's various facial expressions, and the one he's wearing now is distinctly guilty. "What?" he prods, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "Did he make you promise not to tell or something?"

He doesn't actually mean it, so he's unpleasantly surprised when Nitori hangs his head -- he _definitely_ looks guilty now. "Well, sort of..."

"And you actually didn't say anything?! What the hell, did you owe him a favor or something?"

"Kind of," Nitori admits, scuffing his bare foot along the tiled floor. Rin bares his teeth, making the bare minimum effort to keep his irritation from showing through in his face. _God,_ this interrogation is like pulling teeth. Nitori's loyalty would be a thing to admire, were he not coming to the defense of a teammate playing hookey. As Rin's eyes narrow, Nitori seems to panic even more. "B- but it wasn't his fault, Rin-senpai, honestly! Well, it was, it was sort of completely his fault, but the point is he didn't _mean_ to, and --"

"Ai." Rin cuts him off sharply, a raised hand silencing Nitori once more. He really doesn't need to be dragged around on this -- he has to assert his authority as a captain. That means _no one_ should be skipping practice. If they think they can -- well, Rin will deal with them himself.

"Where is he?" he demands, finally bringing out the full authority of his "Captain Voice". The second Nitori's head hangs, Rin knows he's won.

...

When Rin was appointed captain, he had known right from the get-go that he was in for a year of hell. Teenagers were weird, he didn't even like people all that much, and putting up with a large group of them -- being in charge of them, no less -- was an intimidating prospect. Back then, Rin had been sure he wasn't up to the challenge; sometimes he still can't help but think that he isn't.

But really, when he'd imagined all of the things he might wind up dealing with after becoming captain, _this_ scenario hadn't crossed his mind at all.

"Wha the hell did you do?"

He's never been known for his subtlety, so he doesn't bother beating around the bush after barreling into Momotarou's dorm room. A part of him isn't even sure why he bothers asking; the unholy amount of potato chip bags littering the floor speak for themselves, as does the boy curled up in the middle of his bunk with both arms wrapped around his swollen stomach.

Momotarou lifts his head weakly, craning his neck to greet his visitor. The full look in Momo's eyes almost automatically serves as a glass of cool water over Rin's head, shocking him out of his rage. Momo shouldn't look like _that_ ; for as long as Rin's known the kid (a few months, admittedly, but if anyone was ever an open book it's Momo) he's never seen him look that listless. Momotarou's face is a subdued shade of pale, his lips are puckered and pursed into a frown, and he has to blink a few times before he seems to recognize Rin's presence in his room.

"Ahh... Rin-senpai..." he groans, dropping his head back down on his pillow in despair. "You found me... I told Nitori-senpai not to rat me out!"

Rin resists the urge to roll his eyes at that -- he's _Ai_ , of course he wouldn't tell on Momo, even if -- and this is apparent -- the freshman had gotten the worst idea in the world. Rin bites his tongue, raises a hand to massage his temple, and hopes his voice sounds half as exhasperation as he actually feels. "Please tell me you didn't eat yourself sick over potato chips."

Momo hiccups. "I was trying to break a world record..."

Rin's eyes narrow, and he kicks at one of the chip bags as if it's personally offended him. In a way, it has -- he hates potato chips, nasty, calorie laden things that they are, and they've now cost the team's strongest backstroke swimmer valuable training time just days before their tournament. He wishes he could say he's surprised -- but at this point he's just given up on being surprised over anything that has to do with Momo. All he feels, honestly, is disappointment -- and a dull sense of simmering rage, but he's trying to be a captain and not a tyrant here, so he decides to try the non-violent approach first.

"Well, this was stupid of you," he remarks, taking a few steps closer to the bunk. Momo groans quietly, and Rin's eyes linger on the one hand the boy is using to gingerly massage his stomach before he lets out a soft burp. Rin searches the cluttered ground around the bunk before he catches sight of a few empty soda cans scattered within the mess -- of course. "Really, you're an athlete. You need to start taking care of your body, and that means not stuffing it full of junk."

"Ugh..." Momo presses his face into his pillow, sounding pitiful. "I'm sorry, Rin-senpai... I didn't even break the world record, you know?"

"What was the world record?"

"Seventy-two bags," Momo replies, and belches again into the pillow. "I only got to twenty-six..."

The sheer idea of eating twenty-doc bags of chips - never mind seventy-two, oh man - makes Rin's head spin and his gut twist in revulsion. Sighing, he kicks a few more of the chip bags aside until he's standing right next to Momotarou's bunk. This close, he can see the slightly labored rise and fall of the younger boy's breathing, hear the soft groans of digestion his stomach is making, and Momo's quiet whimpers whenever a cramp shoots through his body.

He really does look pathetic, in a ins of way that still makes Rin vaguely angry -- but he feels a flash of sympathy for the boy too. Eyes flickering between his fallen swimmer and the chip bags on the floor, he can only ask himself: what would a good captain do?

A good captain, Rin thinks, would probably have some sort of lecture prepared; he might talk to Momo about diet, not overeating, not attempting ridiculous stunts, and maybe -- _by some miracle_ \-- a good captain might be able to hammer some sense into Momotarou's head.

Rin might not be any sort of great captain; he isn't going to do any of that. Well, he'll probably lecture Momo, but that can come later. Right now, he thinks, the best possible thing he can do is look out for his kouhai, his teammate, and just generally be a decent human being while he's at it (this is something Rin's been trying out lately -- after the emotional turmoil of last year, it's a refreshing change).

Sighing, he reaches down into Nitori's bunk and grabs a warm blanket out of the mess on top of his bed. Gently he tucks it around Momotarou's shoulders, wrapping the stuffed boy in warmth and -- he hopes -- comfort.

He fetches an unopened bottle of water from Nitori's desk, and sets it carefully down within Momo's reach. "Take small sips of that," he orders, tone gruff. "It'll help your stomach feel better."

The boy had lifted his head at the feeling of the blanket being wrapped around him; now, he gapes at Rin openly.

"Y- you mean... I'm not in trouble?"

"Psshh, are you kidding me? We have a tournament in less than a week, and you're skipping practice? When you're back on your feet I'm gonna make you swim laps until you wished you'd stayed in a food coma." Rin's eyes narrow; maybe it's cruel, maybe it's not, but he claps Momotarou on the shoulder, and the kid jolts with another hiccup.

"But for now..." The swim team captain sighs. "Sleep it off. And if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I'll strangle you. Got that?"

With obvious effort, Momotarou manages to nod; his yes are shining with something warm that makes Rin feel vaguely uncomfortable, and he's quick to turn away. The door shuts behind him, leaving Momotarou in solitude and Rin alone with his own thoughts. 

Maybe, he muses, he isn't so bad at this whole captain thing after all.


	31. weight gain/stuffing - kise ryouta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ft. Aokise and my first ever Kise prompt!!!

It wasn't that Kise was getting fat. He... he _wasn't._ No, really, he totally wasn't.

It was just that ever since he and Aomine had moved in together he had gone up almost three entire clothing sizes -- and while that didn't mean he was getting fat (no matter what anyone else said) it certainly wasn't normal, and more than a little worrying.

When he thought about it, it wasn't hard to figure out his problem. It was just that Aomine really liked to feed him -- after a long day, him hard at work modeling and Aomine training for pros, they would both come home. Aomine would cook; Kise would eat. And as it turned out, when he actually tried, Aomine was a really good cook.

Eating and eating until he couldn't eat anymore was just something he did with Aomine. His boyfriend had expressed how much he liked seeing Kise enjoy his cooking, so the blond had made out of enjoying as much of it as vocally as possible.

He had been dating Aomine for almost four months. Already he had gone up a whole three sizes.

"You've still been exercising, haven't you?" his outfitter exclaimed in disbelief as she stared down at the measuring tape in her hands. "You've been working out?"

"Yes!" Kise replied, feeling just as distressed as she looked; his increasing waist size wasn't just an interesting side note to his life, but it would doubtlessly have consequences on his work. Modeling took a certain body type; very few people could defy societal beauty expectations and still look good enough to be put on the shelves. Without his skin figure, all Kise had was an attractive face and charismatic photo presence. He honestly wasn't sure that would be enough.

Yet, when he got home that day and found Aomine setting dinner out on the table, he didn't even hesitate. "I'm home," he greeted, coming up behind his boyfriend and planting a playful kiss on his cheek; Aomine chuckled low in his chest before spinning around and grabbing Kise by the hips.

"I missed you," he said in greeting; of he had taken any notice of Kise's new waist size he hadn't commented on it yet, and as he planted a deep kiss on Kise's lips it occurred to the blond that he probably never would.

"You... made dinner," he observed, once they'd finally broken off for air. The tone in his voice was just shy of hesitant -- maybe even verging on excited. "It looks really good. Aominecchhi."

"Yeah, of course it is." Aomine never pretended to be modest. "Well, go on -- dig in."

"What about you?" asked Kise, taking his seat at the table -- the only place with a plate sitting before it. Aomine shrugged as he sat down across from him.

"I already ate."

"Are you sure you're not hungry?"

"Nah, I'm fine -- go ahead. I wanna see you enjoy it."

So he always said -- but Kise couldn't help but wonder if Aomine himself would enjoy Kise's new waist size after all the food he kept making him took its toll.

By the end of dinner, Kise was honestly stuffed. One hand resting on his distended stomach, the other lazily pushed cleared plates across the table away from him. " _Man_ , Aominecchi," he moaned, stifling a hiccup into his fist. "That was so good."

Aomine grinned, proud and charming. "I'm glad you liked it, babe. I think I'm getting better at this whole cooking thing, you know?"

"You sure are," Kise agreed. In the back of his mind, his recent weight gain was only a nagging whisper, and for the moment he found himself happy that way. Lazing back in his chair and watching Aomine clear away the plates, he found himself feeling utterly content. Maybe, he thought, it wouldn't even be bad to be this happy forever.

He was less content twenty minutes later, staring at his distended stomach in the bathroom mirror. His belly was packed and bloated, swelling over the waistband of his underwear. Rolls of flab decorated the sides of his torso, and his less-defined arms were tense as he clutched the measuring tape in his hands.

"That... can't be right..."

He was even bigger now than he had been in the afternoon. It made sense, he reasoned, after such a big meal; but still, there was a sting in his throat and a burning behind his eyes as he quickly slipped into pajama pants and a t-shirt. Making his way out of the bathroom, he could only hope to get to the bedroom without running into Aomine.

He almost thought he'd managed it, too -- until he opened the door to find Aomine sprawled out in bed, waiting for him. "Hey," the other man greeted lazily, one of his hands trailing along the defined ridges of his chest. Somehow seeing Aomine's defined abs -- and which Kise no longer had himself -- left a bitter taste in the back of his mouth.

He had always been too easy to read, too emotional. When Aomine suddenly picked up his head, brow creasing, Kise realized there was no point in pretending he wasn't upset anymore.

Aomine pushed himself up with both arms, frowning. "Hey, what's up? What's the matter?"

"I - I -" And dear god, he was actually getting choked up. Swallowing stubbornly past the lump in his throat, Kise slipped into the other side of the bed -- well away from Aomine.

Still, the ever-stubborn ace wasn't about to give up easily. "What's wrong?" he prompted again, prodding Kise in the side with his foot. 

He'd hit the wrong spot; Kise knew this immediately as soon as he felt a pressure growing in his chest. Before he could stop himself, however, he wound up releasing a thick belch that reverberated in his chest, hanging over the silence of the room like an echo.

Immediately, the blond buried his burning face in his hands. It was a moment before Aomine spoke again.

"Wow, Kise. Guess you really did like the food, huh?"

Kise made an irritated sort of whining noise in the back of his throat. Aomine chuckled again.

"Here, is your stomach bothering you? I'll rub it for you, if you--"

"No!" Very quickly, Kise drew back from his boyfriend. His eyes were wide, almost frightened looking. "Please don't, I don't want you... feeling my stomach?"

Aomine cocked his head, concern evident in his expressive blue eyes. "Why?"

And there it was. The reality Kise had been dreading having to face, the root of all the insecurities that had been lingering in his mind for the past few weeks. Would Aomine still love him the same way? Would he get to keep his modeling career, even with a bigger body?

"Aominecchi, I -- I'm getting fat."

He wasn't sure what reaction he had expected -- shock, maybe, as if Aomine hadn't noticed, or irritated flippancy. He certainly hadn't expected Aomine to grin, wide and indulgent, before reaching out and brushing a strand of hair back from his eyes.

"I noticed that, yeah," he said, shrugging under the weight of Kise's intense gaze. "Maybe it was wrong of me... I just really liked seeing you eat at first, and then when you started to gain weight I liked that a lot too. If you want to lose it again, I'll stop feeding you, I swear -- I just realized I really liked pampering you, was all. It made me feel good to make you feel good."

Kise blinked, surprise evident on his face. That... was really it? "You mean, you like me better this way?"

"I don't know about _better_. Hell, I like _you_ , any way. But I like you like this, yeah."

"What about..." Kise swallowed again, hands roaming over Aomine's bare shoulders as if he might be able to find all the answers there. "My modeling?"

Aomine quirked an eyebrow. "Come on. There are a bunch of different types of models in the industry nowadays. You might even get more jobs if you're bigger, you don't know. I don't know. I don't know much about modeling."

Kise laughed then, high and breathless. Something in Aomine's expression lightened.

"It's all up to you, of course. If you want to stop then we'll stop... whatever you want."

Kise cupped Aomine's chin in his palm, thumb tracing over his defined jawline, his faintly stubble-roughened skin. He found himself smiling in spite of himself; the revelation that his partner only loved him, all of him in every shape and form, and only wanted to make him happy was overwhelming.

Knowing that, Kise there was no way Kise could be unhappy.

"Let's just see what happens," he whispered into his boyfriend's ear, before catching Aomine's lips in an emotional kiss. Aomine didn't hesitate to kiss back; for a moment, Kise found, he really did feel much too happy.


	32. burping - matsukawa issei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't even kinky this is just ridiculous

In the silence of a too-early Wednesday morning, broken only by the crunching of dead leaves beneath their feet, Hanamaki’s eyes could not help but be drawn to the figure walking at his side. Matsukawa was silent, but this wasn’t unusual for him; what was unusual was the mildly unsettled look on his face, his gaze trained on the ground and thick brow knitted slightly together. 

Matsukawa had barely said more than five words to him since they’d met up on the way to school. It wasn’t as if either of them were good at mornings in general, but it was impossible not to notice the odd behavior of the other boy.

“Mattsun,” he said at last, nudging Matsukawa’s shoulder with his arm. “You okay? You’re quiet today.”

“It’s the crack of dawn, of course I’m quiet. Every noise I hear is a bitter reminder of how I could be sleeping right now.”

“And miss seeing my beautiful face?” Hanamaki placed a hand over his heart, scandalized. “Mattsun, you kill me.”

Perhaps it was that Matsukawa had taken those words to heart, because the next second he turned his head towards Hanamaki and opened his mouth as if to speak. What came out instead was loud enough to not just be startling but a little frightening as well. 

_“BUUUUURP!”_

Hanamaki’s eyes grew wide as Matsukawa’s mouth closed with a click. “Holy shit.”

Matsukawa let out a sigh laced with the hint of a chuckle; his fist pounded at his chest once, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly. “And that,” he said, “is exactly what’s wrong with me this morning.”

“Demonic possession?”

“Gas. I think. I haven't been able to stop burping since this morning -- and before you start laughing, it _really_ isn't funny.”

Hanamaki wasn't about to start laughing - no, really, he _wasn't_. With burps like those, he was honestly amazed Matsukawa’s throat hadn't been torn up by now; they were so deep they sounded almost painful. Mouth turning down in a sympathetic frown, he gave his friend a clap on the shoulder.

Involuntarily Matsukawa jerked forward with another belch. His proceeded to turn to Hanamaki, glaring. “Makki.”

“Sorry,” replied Hanamaki, only feeling the slightest bit apologetic. “My fault.”

That said -- unfortunate as it might be for Mattsun, it was also completely freaking hilarious for him. Today, predicted Hanamaki, was going to be a _very_ fun day. 

...

“Overall I'm very pleased with the team’s progress the past few weeks! Kunimi, your recieves could use some work, but your serve is coming along nicely! Yudacchi, you need to make your blocks more concrete -- take note of the way Iwa-chan does it, his form is almost impeccable. Don't complain about being short, you've seen the number ten from Karasuno, you have no room to whine. And Makki, you --”

Just before Oikawa could get to telling Hanamaki exactly what he needed to work on, he was cut off by a sudden grunt from Matsukawa. The eyes of Oikawa, as well as several of their other teammates, strayed to him. This was just in time for Matsukawa to let out a deep burp, loud and long, not even bothering to muffle it with his hand.

“Sorry,” he muttered once he was finished. He wasn't flushed, but the way he wouldn't quite meet any of the team’s eyes betrayed the embarrassment he was unwilling to show. For a moment, everyone else was quiet; Iwaizumi coughed, Yahaba scuffed the heel of his sneaker along the gym floor, and Hanamaki was biting the inside of his cheek hard to keep from grinning. Finally, someone cracked.

“Are -- are you _okay?_ ” Kindaichi asked, sounding anxious, and it was this that finally made Hanamaki break into guffaws; once he's started, Oikawa did too, and eventually most of the team was cracking up at poor Mattsun’s misfortune. Matsukawa crossed his arms, sighed, and fixed what he probably thought was a stern glare on his so-called “friends”.

“You too?” he asked Iwaizumi, who was wiping tears from his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry, it's -- that's just the _perfect_ reaction to anything Oikawa says! Nice job, Mattsun.”

Matsukawa ‘hmmph’ed, looking snide; the effect was somewhat ruined when he jolted with a belch not three seconds later, clapping a hand over his mouth to keep from embarrassing himself further. If he'd been a nice person, Hanamaki might have even felt bad for him.

…

“It isn't funny. I burped in the middle of math class. Then I interrupted a lecture during Japanese History, and I almost got kicked out. How would I explain that to the principal? _‘I got kicked out of class for burping too much, and I can't really_ stop.’ Fine. _Laugh_. It's hilarious, isn't it? Never mind the time I helped you after you dyed your hair orange, that doesn't count, I should have just let you face the public embarrassment on your _own_ \--”

“Mattsun, there's nothing I can do!” Hanamaki gasped, muffling his snorts into his hands. Sitting across from them, Oikawa was leaning against Iwaizumi’s shoulder and giggling into his milk bread. Iwaizumi was picking at his bento, a guilty hint of a smile on his face.

“Have you tried drinking water?” Oikawa suggested, tilting his head towards Matsukawa’s untouched lunch. “Or eating something? It might help.”

“I ate half a protein bar in between classes,” he muttered, eyeing his bento ruefully. “Didn't help. Just made it even wo-- _uuuUURP!”_

_Oikawa dissolved into giggles again, and Iwaizumi clapped a hand to his face. Grinning wickedly, Hanamaki made another tally mark with his pen on the back of Matsukawa’s hand._

_“That’s… six since lunch started, Mattsun. Real impressive.”_

_“If burping was an Olympic sport, maybe,” Iwaizumi quipped, and Matsukawa finally made his bento useful by hurling a riceball at him._

_Five minutes, two burps, and a barely diverted attempt at a food fight later, they were back to brainstorming._

_“Have you tried antacids?”_

_“Do you have any on hand?”_

_“I'm sure the nurse would!”_

_“Nah, she doesn't. I asked her what she had the last time I was in there, and she told me she can't carry many medications except painkillers for headaches. School nurses don't have much power.”_

_Oikawa frowned sympathetically, reaching out to pay his friend’s shoulder. Matsukawa was downright pouting now, and it might have been cute had the look suited his face at all. It didn't. “Guess you'll just have to suffer, Mattsun.”_

_Matsukawa opened his mouth, belched again, and Oikawa let out a tiny squeak as he jerked away._

_“I think he already is,” retorted Iwaizumi, downright grinning._

_Matsukawa flung another riceball at him._

_…_

_Friday being the one day the Seijoh team did not have afternoon practice, Matsukawa wound up following Hanamaki back to his house. They'd planned it earlier in the week; after the day he'd had, Hanamaki had half expected his friend to say he just wanted to go home instead, but Matsukawa was nothing if not reliable._

_After beating a hasty retreat to Hanamaki’s bedroom (his little brothers were pests, and anytime Hanamaki had friends over his father liked to talk very loud and very fast in Spanish to intimidate them) the two boys broke out the video games. Matsukawa preferred shooting games that required attention and accurate aim; more out of pity than anything else, Hanamaki humored him._

_He came to regret it after the third time he had to watch his character get zapped to death on screen._

__“Dammit!”_ _

_“Sorry,” Matsukawa muttered, for what had to be the hundredth time today. At least he now had the decency to look abashed._

_“You need to stop!”_

_“I can't, it not like I can just --” Matsukawa paused, frowning. He held up a single finger in a motion for Hanamaki to wait, and then pounded on his chest once. The belch that followed was downright scary._

_“Not the time, Mattsun! I just _died!”__

_It sounded like Matsukawa tried to apologize again, but the sound just barely came out. The suffering boy had been left clutching his throat with both hands, a wince prominent of his face. Hanamaki realized for the first time that this incessant burping probably wasn't just inconvenient for Matsukawa, but painful._

_“That’s it,” he announced, sighing as he rose to his feet. “I'm getting some antacids from my dad. _Don't_ argue, you -- you _need_ them. I'm not even sure you're okay right now.”_

_“I'm probably not.”_

_“Yeah. No kidding.”_

_Hanamaki returned less than five minutes later to see that Matsukawa had picked up both video game controllers, and was now trying his best to play both characters at once. He half-flung the antacids at him; there was a satisfying ‘boink’ as they bounced off the side of Matsukawa’s head._

__“Thank you, Makki,”_ the boy sang, picking up the pill bottle and cradling it as if it were some precious thing. Hanamaki rolled his eyes, settling back on his bed and fixing his eyes on some unidentified point in the plaster of his ceiling._

_“Fix your problem,” he said, “please.”_

_Matsukawa responded with another burp, and Hanamaki debated the merits of chucking a pillow at him._


	33. stuffing - tsukishima kei

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gets kind of sexy and also features Bokuto/Tsukki which is a rarepair guilty pleasure of mine

**AN: ohhhh man. this was a fun one. don't be shy, feel free to request anything else you want! requests are always open.**

He wasn't presumptuous in saying Tsukishima was skinny as a stick - he just _was._ The lanky freshman was made up of all bony elbows and sharp limbs, only further accentuating the overall "I-am-scary-gorgeous-and-unapproachable" thing he seemed to have going on. Koutarou was pretty sure any worries he had about him were well founded.

That didn't mean the younger boy didn't brush him off like the stubborn kid he was when he brought it up, though. Koutarou shouldn't have been surprised; it was becoming increasingly obvious that Kei didn't know how - or wasn't willing - to accept anyone's opinions but his own.

So, he hatched up a plan.

Figuring out Kei's favorite foods was easy -- he had a proclivity for shortcake, apparently, foods bordering on the healthy side, sweet but not overly so. The feast Koutarou managed to prepare was mostly his mom's handiwork, but he was very proud to have helped with the crown jewel -- a gigantic, glowing shortcake, frosted in butter cream and decorated liberally with more than a few strawberries. Surrounding the cake were the main courses, all sorts of heavy, delicious foods Koutarou reasoned were bound to put at least a little meat on Tsukishima's bones.

That was the easy part. Getting Tsukishima to his house was a bit more difficult -- but Koutarou quickly discovered that, if pestered enough, Tsukishima was willing to do almost anything just to shut you up. And that was how he managed to talk Tsukishima Kei into an impromptu study session at his house on one of the final days of training camp.

Tsukishima arrived that afternoon, in the cool twilight hour when the sky is just bordering on day and night. Bag slung over his shoulder, headphones around his neck, and head cocked disinterestedly to the side, he was almost the picture of aloof disdain. As Koutarou opened the door wider to allow him in, he could feel his own heart thrumming like a hummingbird's wings in his chest.

"Tsukishima! You came!"

"I said I would." Not sparing him a glance, the boy toed off his shoes by the door, muttering a quick _"pardon the intrusion"_ as he did so. Politeness appeased, he finally turned to Koutarou. A thin eyebrow quirked up, something like disdain on his face as he took in the house and the eager ace standing in the middle of the hallway.

Koutarou wasn't sure if he actually liked the house or was just resigned to the next few hours, but Tsukishima's eyes narrowed slightly. He looked bored. That just wouldn't do. "You do realize I'm your junior by two years. And we don't even go to the same school. Your curriculum in probably entirely different than mine. You'd have much better luck trying to convince Akaashi-san to help you."

Koutarou was already moving down the hallway, practically bouncing with each step; Tsukishima followed behind at a much more subdued pace. "I wanted it to be you!" he exclaimed, and it wasn't even a lie. "Besides, don't worry about the material. I actually had something... else planned for us to do."

At his words, he could hear Tsukishima's footsteps halt; but they were already at the door, and the scent of foods wafting out into the hallway was simply overpowering. Koutarou turned to look over his shoulder, and Tsukishima definitely did look curious, if nothing else.

"What _else_ do you have planned?" he asked slowly, taking a tentative peek into the room. Koutarou felt a rush of victory when his jaw dropped slightly.

"Surprise! I made all this for you!"

Ushering Tsukishima into the room, Koutarou managed to get him settled at the head of the table. The awed boy put up little resistance, still seeming a bit shell-shocked at the utterly unexpected quantity of food laid out in front of him. He glanced up at Koutarou, quirking his head, and the responsible party could only grin.

"For me?"

"Yeah! You're so skinny, Tsukishima, and muscle is important for an athlete to have, so I thought I'd help you out!"

"You... made all of this..." Tsukishima stopped, swallowing as he eyed the spread in front of them. "Is that strawberry shortcake?"

"Yup! And it's the best shortcake you'll ever taste!" Koutarou wasn't sure whether or not the fact that he's helped make it would be something Tsukishima would appreciate; he decided to leave that fact out anyway. "But," he announced, holding up a finger in the boy's face, "you've got to eat your way through the rest of the stuff first before you can get to the cake!"

Tsukishima's eyes narrowed. _Challenge accepted_ , Koutarou thought, the warm feeling of victory growing in his chest.

...

When Tsukishima wanted to eat, he could _eat._ It was remarkable, thought Koutarou, just how much the notably thin teen was able to put away -- bowls of heavy broth, vegetable platters, and even some of the bread rolls Koutarou had spread liberally out around the table. All of it went into Tsukishima's mouth; he ate with a vigor, barely swallowing one bite before reaching for another, and all the while his eyes barely strayed from the cake in front of him. That cake, Koutarou was realizing, had to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

Watching Tsukishima eat was entrancing. There was something gorgeous about seeing that delicately pinched mouth take in bite after bite, watching his jaw shift as he chewed and his sharply defined throat bob with each swallow. Tsukishima really was gorgeous, and most times it was in a way that seemed almost untouchable. But with him like this in front of him, Koutarou no longer felt Tsukishima to be so far out of his reach.

By the time the last dish was cleared, it was obvious just how much Tsukishima was struggling. It had been no small amount of food, Koutarou had made sure of that. The fact that he'd managed to finish it all was nothing short of stunning. Even now, his stomach was swelling hugely, taut and round under his straining shirt; the tight hem of his pants had been digging into his skin for a long while, and Koutarou wondered how it wasn't painful for him.

Tsukishima was making noises too, things Koutarou might not have even noticed had he not been listening (and he was _so_ glad he was); soft grunts and groans, burps barely suppressed before they could slip out. He was obviously trying not to make a bigger spectacle of himself than he already was, but it was clear that the usually-aloof boy's icy veneer was slipping away.

While Tsukishima sipped halfheartedly on some water, Koutarou cut him a reasonably large slice of the highly anticipated cake. He could feel the teen's eyes fixed on him as he settled the plate, along with a clean fork, down in front of him.

Tsukishima didn't speak. The moment he'd been waiting for was here, and he snatched up the fork as quickly as anyone stuffed to the brim with heavy food possibly could. Sinking into the rich material of the cake, his eyes were wide with anticipation as he brought the first bite to his lips.

Tsukishima chewed slowly; very reluctantly, he managed to swallow. His brow furrowed at he stared down at the cake, eager expression slowly melting into a glare as it dawned on him exactly what he'd done.

"I can't..." he started to say, but hiccuped sharply; a hand flew to his mouth, his cheeks flushing. Koutarou felt something inside him melt into a puddle of Tsukishima-induced cuteness overload. "Too much..."

He'd overstretched himself, Koutarou realized. He'd eaten so much during dinner that now, stomach packed tight, there was just no room for dessert.

But that _couldn't_ stand -- not after Tsukishima had so anticipated getting his cake.

"Do you... want me to feed you?" he asked slowly. With wide eyes, Tsukishima tilted his head to look up at him. He seemed to gauge the other's expression for a second, searching for any hint of mockery or disdain where there was none to be found; then, wordlessly, he nodded.

Without hesitating for a second, Koutarou took up the fork himself.

With someone else bringing the bites of cake to Tsukishima's mouth, it seemed less difficult for the boy to swallow them down. Icing smeared his lips liberally, some dusting the tip of his nose; every so often he would let out a soft grunt at all that was struggling to digest, his stomach protesting the amount of food he was still adding to it. Once he even burped, thick and unexpected, before drawing away as best as he could with a deep frown on his face. Koutarou's hand massaged the tension from his shoulders before drawing another bite to his lips.

By the time he had finished three pieces, it was obvious that he couldn't go anymore. Tsukishima's gut was massive, taut skin packed tight as a drum. The hem of his pants had long since slid down to accommodate his new waistline, and his shirt buttons were straining painfully. Even breathing was coming to him with difficulty. He could only take heavy, panting breaths, nails digging into the armrests of the chair as he allowed his head to drop back. He groaned softly, punctuated by another belch, and Koutarou felt the pounding of his heart double.

"Tsu - Tsuki _shima_ \--" he started to say, but cut off when the boy turned a cool glare on him.

"Are you happy?" he asked, voice weak from breathlessness. The words might have had more impact had a loud gurgle of his stomach not followed immediately afterwards. Tsukishima blushed, entire face going pink as he turned his head away again.

"I'd be more happy if you let me help you with that."

What was he even doing? Koutarou had no clue -- maybe he was being driven by his horomones, but he knew he certainly hadn't expected seeing Tsukishima eat so much past his limit to get him feeling so electrified. He hadn't thought Tsukishima would look so gorgeous doing it, hadn't even realized just how easy it would be to win an almost-smile as he fed bites of cake past his lips. Every cell in Koutarou's body felt like it was on fire; all of a sudden he only wanted to touch Tsukishima, to be close to him.

The blond panted for breath again, the notion of any sort of relief clearly appealing to him; he nodded.

Slowly, almost unsure, Koutarou laid his broad hands on the expanse of Tsukishima's stomach. Immediately the packed belly let out a loud groan, and Tsukishima echoed it out loud. This wasn't exactly encouragement, but Koutarou wasn't about to back away without a fight. He began to massage.

Gradually, the sounds of digestion from Tsukishima's stomach started to get more prominent. A flush spread high over his pale cheekbones, and Koutarou couldn't resist the urge to brush them with his hand, almost as if trying to wipe away some of the frosting on the lethargic boy's face. This must have been what Tsukishima thought, too; his head ripped back lazily, face close to Koutarou's own, and he raised a trimmed eyebrow. "Do I have some there?"

"... huh?"

"Frosting." Tsukishima blinked into Koutarou's uncomprehending expression. "Is it on my face?"

"Yeah..." Koutarou was staring very hard at Tsukishima's face. "Everywhere..."

The blond let out a soft huff of annoyance, raising one hand to brush at his lips. His movement was cut off just as quickly, and he turned to find Koutarou unexpectedly close to him.

"I'll take care of it for you," he muttered, and in the next second caught Tsukishima's frosting-coated lips with his own.

Tsukishima made a small noise of surprise, instinctively tensing against the feeling of Koutarou's mouth on his. There was a part of the other by that was absolutely screaming _(I shouldn't do this, I invited him here to study, he's younger than me, he's mean, he probably_ bites) but this was drowned out by the cloying taste of strawberries and cream still lingering on Tsukishima's lips, and by the way his body was responding to his own actions -- Koutarou felt like he was on fire.

For a moment, it seemed like Tsukishima didn't know what to do -- but then Koutarou's mouth began cleansing him of any leftover frosting in earnest, and a soft groan sounded in the back of his throat as he leaned deeper into the kiss.

What was he doing? Koutarou got the feeling Tsukishima was barely even sure himself, but as the boy pressed his mouth harder to his it wasn't difficult to guess. Was Tsukishima _actually_ liking this as much as Koutarou was right now?

When they parted for breath again, Tsukishima was still panting -- this time, however, his breathlessness had nothing to do with his fullness.

"I --" He stopped, stifled a belch, and narrowed his eyes. "If you really wanted to do that..."

"Sorry," Koutarou replied, tilting his head a bit; he could taste a slight bit of frosting lingering on his own lips. "I should have asked a long time ago."

"Yes," Tsukishima affirmed, nodding. "You should have."


	34. stuffing/belly rubs - kuroo tetsurou

**AN: so I'm honestly not sure if this was meant as a request but I wrOTE SOMETHING ANYWAY because kuroo is my true love and to date no one has requested him on this blog. so. enjoy a very stuffed kuroo.**

Kuroo stifled a burp in his palm, lazily stroking over the swell of his stomach under his taut t-shirt. He felt _full_ \-- ridiculously overindulged, stuffed to the point that any rumble of his stomach felt like an earthquake, and he could barely bring himself to muffle his belches so the rest of his family wouldn't hear.

This was all his fault, and he knew it. He was the one who had overeaten at dinner, knowing he'd only wind up with an aching and bloated stomach later on. He was also the one who had convinced himself that it didn't matter; he worked out enough that he knew it wouldn't really affect him later on. There was just something about stuffing himself full, past the point of comfort, probably past the point of reason -- that thrilled him.

Still, he had eaten too much. Way too much.

Busy as he was drifting on the cusp of a food-induced slumber, smothering burps into his pillow, that he almost didn't hear the sound of the door opening, or someone slip into his room. He felt the bed shift under a newly added weight, and he didn't have to open his eyes to see who it was.

"Not knocking, Kenma? I thought that was my thing."

"I knocked. On your front door," Kenma intoned flatly, echoing Kuroo's words from many instances before which featured him charging unannounced into his best friend's room. "Your little sisters let me in. I brought you the video game you asked to borrow."

"Ahh. Neat." Kuroo fought the urge to wince as a ripple of pain shot through his belly. "Thanks, just leave it... umm, on the table."

There was silence for a moment; this wasn't unusual for Kenma, but it was disconcerting enough anyway that Kuroo found himself cracking a single eye open. He was unsurprised to find the faux-blond watching him, gaze intent and curious.

"Kuro," Kenma said quietly, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Kuroo replied, before belching softly into his palm. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You have a stomachache."

Kuroo sighed. "I just ate too much, Kenma. It's okay."

Sometimes having a best friend perceptive enough to notice everything could be really neat; and sometimes it was a _pain_. Kenma simply raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and Kuroo was at least smart enough to realize that trying to be casual was getting him nowhere.

"I overate again," he admitted quietly; the soft huff from Kenma told him that his friend was displeased.

"Why?" Kenma scooted closer on the bed. "You only ever give yourself stomach aches."

"I guess I don't learn." Consciously, Kuroo pushed the hem of his dark t-shirt up until it was resting over the slight swell of his stomach. He didn't have to wait long before he felt a hand -- calloused palms, nails chewed down to the nub -- brushing smoothly over his skin.

The first time Kenma had found him like this, things had been a bit awkward. The second time, uncertainty had mostly faded into exhasperation. The third, and Kenma had actually given him a hand. Now it was almost normal for Kenma to help him out when he needed it -- well, as normal as giving your idiot best friend platonic belly rubs could be. 

The most important thing, to Kuroo, was that Kenma was good with his hands.

The other boy kneaded softly into tanned flesh, and Kuroo let out a soft groan. "Mmm... right there. Thank you..."

He could tell Kenma was rolling his eyes, even if he couldn't see him -- the _rules_ of this arrangement said in no specific terms that Kuroo wasn't supposed to look at Kenma for as long as he was running his belly. Kuroo was okay with that. As his friend rubbed measured circles into his stomach he gave a soft keen, and he felt Kenma's touch still for just a microsecond.

"You're ridiculous," Kenma remarked, and Kuroo hummed his agreement.

"And you're the most caring friend in the world -- ow!" Irritated, Kenma unexpectedly pressed down on a sensitive spot in Kuroo's stomach, and the other boy jolted with a gurgling belch. "Kenma!"

"Hmm," was the other boy's only reply, continuing his massage. With a sigh, Kuroo allowed himself to relax back into the soft touch once more. Giving another soft moan of content, he let his eyes slip shut once again.


	35. stuffing/hiccups - kuroko tetsuya

**AN: ahh, it makes me happy that you like my fics! I hope this one is satisfactory as well!**

_"Hic! Hic!"_

Kagami wasn't a bad person. He really wasn't.

_"HIC!"_

He was nice to animals (except dogs, he was terrified of dogs). He was nice to kids (except babies, he was terrified of babies). He even remembered to recycle, sometimes, when he flashed back to some of the lectures he used to recieve back in L.A. on "keeping out planet green".

_"HICCULP!"_

"Will you _cut that out?_ "

However, there were some things even absolute saints wouldn't be able to stand.

Very slowly, Kuroko raised his eyes; that hard, emotionless stare had Kagami unconsciously shrinking back slightly, scowling. Kuroko didn't seem impressed at all, and continued to sip benignly on his milkshake.

Kagami forced himself to meet Kuroko's stare head-on. He narrowed his eyes. He waited.

Suddenly Kuroko jerked back from the straw, an "unexpected" hiccup jolting his slight frame. He rocked slightly in his chair, brow furrowing; the moment he regained his balance, however, he was back to his milkshake.

"How many of those have you even had?" Kagami mused incredulously, glancing around their small table at the numerous empty vanilla shake cups surrounding Kuroko. The sweet-toothed boy only shrugged, pinching his straw in between two fingers.

"I don't know," he replied. "I wasn't counting."

The only reason Kagami liked Magi Burger was for its burgers; the only reason Kuroko liked it was for its vanilla milkshakes. Kagami supposed that given the sheer amount _he_ could eat in one sitting, Kuroko's consumption shouldn't have surprised him -- but then again, this was _Kuroko._

"If you have the hiccups, why don't --"

_"HIC!"_

Kagami's eye twitched. "Why don't you take a break?"

Kuroko blinked at him, tilting his head slightly as if the mere suggestion only confused him. He looked eerily like Nigou might if someone told him he wasn't allowed to come to practice anymore -- Kagami shuddered at the resemblance, which was already uncanny to begin with. "Quit that," he snapped, and Kuroko reverted back to his usual flat expression.

"I don't understand why you're agitated, Kagami-kun," Kuroko remarked, though he obviously only half-cared about the reason. Kagami felt his own scowl deepening. With a sweeping gesture, he encompassed the amount of empty cups around them.

"Stop drinking so much. You're going to die."

"That's an -- _hiccUPP!_ \-- exaggeration."

"No, it isn't." Really, most of the team had figured Kuroko would drop dead during practice sprints or something equally pathetic -- floating smoothly down a vanilla-milkshake river to the grave was somehow even worse. It was common knowledge that Kuroko had the stomach capacity of a toddler -- one of those really hungry toddlers who probably ate a bit more than a toddler should, but a toddler nonetheless.

Kagami didn't know why Kuroko felt the need to drink so many milkshakes. He didn't even know how. Honestly, he was a little worried.

 _"HicCC!"_ Kuroko jolted forward with another sharp hiccup, and Kagami's eyes narrowed.

"Seriously. Stop. If you can't move tomorrow morning Coach is gonna blame me."

"That will be Kagami-kun's own fault, then."

"You lying little --" Kagami bit down on his knuckles, resisting the urge to make a scene in the middle of the restaraunt. He was not getting kicked out of the best burger place in Tokyo because of Kuroko.

Kuroko was nearing the end of his milkshake, and his eyes were already beginning to dart around the table as if searching for another. Kagami felt his stomach sink; thinking he could outsmart Kuroko by taking advantage of the inch of milkshake he still had left, he raised his hand to gesture to the man behind the counter that by no means should this maniac be allowed another milkshake --

Suddenly Kuroko hiccuped again, violently -- his shoulders jolted, and he found himself choking on the mouthful of ice cream he had already begun to swallow. Kagami stared, wide-eyed, as Kuroko broke away from his straw to cough and gag violently for one painfully long moment.

By the time the boy had finally caught his breath again, Kagami's alarm had faded away into unimpressed silence. Kuroko, mouth and brain no longer occupied by the spell of vanilla shake, had a slightly pained look on his face as he surveyed the mess of empty cups around him. One hand came to rest on his bloated stomach, while the other began to wipe foamy residue from his lips and chin.

"I..." he began, and then trailed off; another hiccup was muffled into his palm, and Kuroko blinked as if he were surprised. "I feel very, very full."

Kagami muttered a curse under his breath, and silently vowed to himself that he wouldn't be the poor soul to face Coach's wrath at practice tomorrow. This one was all on Kuroko.


	36. bloated/burping - sawamura daichi + sugawara koushi

It wasn't as if dinner had been bad, really. Daichi was even willing to bet that Suga's sister was probably a wonderful cook, given the right ingredients and the condition that anything she wound up making was absolutely _not_ going to be consumed by anyone, ever. At it was Sugawara Shina had presented them both with a lovely meal that had been... very, very interesting going down.

And now it was proving to be even more interesting. It was just he and Suga's luck that his sister's cooking hadn't wound up agreeing with either of them.

"Uhmm… _uUURP!"_ Suga pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, heaving a shallow sigh. "I don't want Shi-chan to know that she's a terrible cook. It would break her heart, and I'm not sure she'd ever forgive me. Or at least she wouldn't forgive me for a few weeks. She can hold an amazing grudge."

Glad as Daichi was to learn that uncanny stubbornness seemed to run in the Sugawara family, he was more interested in the dull, churning ache in his stomach, and the fact that apparently every breath of air was trying its damnedest to crawl its way right back up his throat. Not trusting himself to speak, he merely nodded his head at Suga's words. His shirt had been ridden up enough to expose the swell of his distended stomach, bloating over the waist of his shorts. Pale hands lazily massaged over his skin, easing out the worst of the cramps. Feeling nauseous and full all at once, Daichi muffled a wet belch into his fist.

"Aww, poor Daichi," Suga muttered, leaning his weight against Daichi's shoulders as his hands continued to massage the expanse of his boyfriend's stomach. Daichi's one hand that wasn't repeatedly having to stifle burps was doing its part, massaging a clumsy but gentle rhythm into Suga's own belly.

The larger man huffed out a labored breath. "Your sister is... sweet. Not sure I've felt this bloated in a long time, though."

"You remember some of my first attempts at cooking, don't you? Surely this can't be any -- _ulp_ \-- worse."

"It is... a bit." Daichi burped again, long and gurgling, and he felt Sugawara's ministrations on his stomach seem to increase in earnest.

"Poor Daichi," he muttered again, even though Suga's own stomach was swelled out even more than Daichi's. He had needed to undo the zipper of his jeans, and had thankfully divested himself of his shirt -- otherwise Daichi wasn't sure how well the right fabric would have supported Suga's newfound width.

"I don't know if I... ugh..." Another cramp riding over him, Daichi allowed his head to drop against Suga's own and tried to swallow back the persistent building up of gas in his chest. His eyes flickered, and he heard his stomach give off an unhappy gurgle.

"Oh man..." Even Suga couldn't hide his suffering. He belched again wetly and then bit down on his lip, as if trying very hard to keep any more from coming up.

"Suga... are you okay?"

"Mmm. I'm fine." Suga turned his head, pressing his lips to the side of Daichi’s skull. The other man hummed softly, adjusting his arm so that it twined around Suga’s shoulders. Pulling his boyfriend snugly against him, Daichi couldn't resist the urge to tickle into Suga’s side -- right where he knew he was most vulnerable.

Suga gasped, twisting and letting out a high pitched giggle -- which almost immediately turned into a thick belch. Pressing one hand over his mouth, Suga shot his boyfriend a stern glare; he seemed unimpressed by the wicked little grin Daichi gave him in return.

“Very mean!”

“Yeah… sorry.” Daichi huffed a tiny chuckle. “Couldn't resist.”

“Mmm…” Suga curled into Daichi’s side, one hand resting on his own aching stomach while the other tenderly massaged Daichi’s. The other man had taken to rubbing his boyfriend’s shoulders, hopefully easing some of the tension out of Suga’s frame.

Another cramp coursed through Daichi, and he let out a soft grunt. Sensing his discomfort, Suga seemed to double the attention being paid to his belly. As the cramp faded, Suga kneaded the bloated skin with his knuckles.

All of the excess air that had been trapped in his stomach suddenly seemed to be burbling up at once, rising in his chest at the pressure of Suga’s touch. Daichi suddenly found himself releasing a long, deep belch -- one that left his throat burning and the ache in his stomach mercifully dulled for the time being.

Once he managed to catch his breath again (Suga swiped discreetly at his chin -- Daichi _really_ hoped there hasn't been spit there, but he wouldn't be surprised) he let out a contented sigh, threading his fingers through Suga’s soft hair.

“That one felt good.”

“I'm glad,” Suga replied, pressing his face into the crook of Daichi’s neck. He gave a soft hiccup, fist clenching around the hem of Daichi’s t-shirt, and the other man gently patted his boyfriend on the back.

Suga had succeeded in making him feel better; now, thought Daichi, patting a gentle rhythm between his boyfriend’s shoulder blades while the other massaged the bloat of his pale belly, it was his turn.


	37. burping/embarrassment - azumane asahi

Azumane Asahi was going to die.

That was certain. The big question was whether it would be due to the cramps currently shooting through his gut, or the lethal force of sheer embarrassment. (Was it possible for someone to die of embarrassment? He didn't know, but he supposed he was going to find out shortly. Maybe he's wind up in the history books, would that be cool? Nishinoya might think that was cool --)

 _Nishinoya_ , the sole witness to his untimely demise, was currently staring up at him with an utterly blank look on his face.

“Huh,” he asked, only it didn't sound much like a question at all. There was a dull tone in his voice that called to mind someone trying very hard to process what had just happened right in front of him.

Meanwhile, Asahi was two seconds away from dissolving into a puddle of humiliation on the spot.

“I'm… so. Sorry. I'm really sorry. I can't… _sorry._ ”

No amount of apologies could make up for the fact that he's literally just belched in Nishinoya’s face.

Well, okay, not _literally_ \-- the shorter boy’s face was considerably lower than his own, so he hadn't _actually_ belched in his face -- but the fact remained that Nishinoya had asked him a question, and when Asahi had tried to reply all that had come out was a burp.

“Asahi-san?” Nishinoya tilted his head, birdlike, not seeming to know _what_ to think. “Are you okay?”

“Mmm,” replied Asahi. One word answers were impolite; not bothering to form even a single word was even worse. But on a scale of social atrocities, he'd have to guess that burping at someone ranked higher than not answering them like a normal person. Asahi could feel an ominous burbling rising up from his stomach; he was taking no more chances that day.

At any rate -- no matter what he did or didn't say -- he certainly didn't look _okay_. And Nishinoya wasn't an idiot.

“Ohh, I get it!” The libero suddenly broke into a wide grin, and Asahi could feel his heart freeze up in his chest. “You're not feeling well, right? That's what that was. You're all burpy!”

Asahi wanted to disappear. He wanted to bury his head in the sand forever, like a…!what were those birds called again? _Ostriches_. Ostriches had the right idea.

Why did Nishinoya have to be so _loud_ about it? “Noya, please,” he muttered, ducking his head. At least they were alone in the club room, the last two teammates to go home for the day; but that still didn't mean he wanted Nishinoya shouting about his sickness. The discomforting, bloated feeling in his gut was bad enough; he certainly didn't want to feel any _worse_.

“You know, you could just burp,” Nishinoya remarked, snatching his jacket out of his locker before slamming it shut with a loud clang. As echoes of the noise reverberated throughout the room, Asahi couldn't help but wince.

“No… I couldn't do that.”

“Why not?”

“It's just --” Asahi had to stop himself, pressing a hand to his mouth again; he groaned softly into his fist as another cramp hit him.

When he opened his eyes, Nishinoya was staring up at him in obvious concern. “Wow, you really aren't feeling well,” he remarked, the corners of his lips quirking down in a solemn frown. “Geez. You should go home.”

“That's where we're both going, Noya.”

Chuckling, Nishinoya slung his jacket over his shoulder and hoisted his massive gym bag over his shoulder. The entire thing looked like it might be heavier than him, but that wasn't about to slow Nishinoya down at all. “Right. I knew that. I meant, you should probably go home and get some rest. And take an antacid. And maybe try…”

Without warning, the libero suddenly lashed out and struck Asahi forcefully in the gut. It didn't hurt, but the blow alone was enough to knock a belch from him; Asahi didn't even have the chance to cover his mouth before it rolled out, and he was left staring at Nishinoya in astonishment.

“What did you do _that_?”

“It helped, didn't it?” Nishinoya tilted his head, grinning triumphant. “I told you! If you burp enough, your belly ache will go away!”

It was amazing how simple Nishinoya made it sound. Asahi couldn't just _burp_. He wasn't some sort of caveman, or some uncivilized brute - there was no way he could just burp openly and not feel embarrassed about it (not in the way Noya doubtlessly could -- but then again, he'd figured out long ago that Nishinoya had no sense of shame).

But, as another unforgiving cramp rolled through Asahi’s stomach, he did feel _really_ bad…

Nishinoya was still staring up at him expectantly, one eyebrow quirked; Asahi figured he had to say something. “Umm… can we sit down?”

Nishinoya led him over to a bench just outside of the club room entrance. It was thankfully pretty secluded; with no one around school at this time of day and most other club members having gone home already, the two were thankfully the only people in sight. This made Asahi feel a little better, at least, even though his stomach grumbles when he sat down and he couldn't help but wince.

“Umm… you really don't…” He couldn't meet Nishinoya’s eye. “Don't mind?”

“Nah.” The libero patted Asahi on the shoulder, half-gently. “Go ahead, Asahi!”

And as Nishinoya blinked up at him with those big, wide eyes and that hipper smile on his face, it dawned on Asahi that he seriously could not do this.

“Ugh,” he said aloud to no one in particular before face planting in his own hands. So busy was he regretting ever poor life choice he'd ever made to lead him up to this moment that the didn't realize Nishinoya was moving beside him until he felt surprisingly cold hands on the bare skin of his belly.

To his credit, he didn't shriek; he didn't even jump, that much. “N- Noya, what -- _ulp_.”

“I'm helping you, Asahi,” quipped Nishinoya lightly, continuing to massage Asahi’s belly without shame. To the older boy’s horror, Nishinoya’s persistent hands and the pressure he was adding to his gut actually seemed to be doing something; his stomach grumbled again under his hands, and Asahi felt another belch bubble up in his chest.

“There you go,” Noya nodded approvingly as Asahi muffled this one into his fist -- it was followed closely by another, more gurgling belch, and he was left needing to gasp for breath. The ache in his stomach wasn't anywhere close to going away, but the important thing was that it wasn't getting worse; Nishinoya was good with his hands. As yet another burp rolled out of him, it dawned on Asahi that he really did feel a bit less bloated.

Finally, after what had to have been a few minutes without any burping or grunts of pain from Asahi, Nishinoya drew back again. He wore a wide grin. “How was that, Asahi-san?” he exclaimed eagerly, as if asking him for nothing more than an opinion on his most recent recieve.

Asahi swallowed, gaze flickering from the floor to Nishinoya, and then quickly back to the floor again. That had been… honestly really helpful, but for the life of him he couldn't understand why the other boy had done it.

“Thank you, Noya,” Ashai muttered softly, cheeks flushing from embarrassment; catching sight of the wide grin on Noya’s face only made him blush even more. The universe had certainly created a very interesting person in Nishinoya Yuu. However, Asahi could never say he wasn't glad that Noya had his back -- in everything.


	38. stuffing - kageyama tobio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kagehina is actually a really tough pairing for me to write this for because their dynamic just makes it... hard for me to push them into h/c scenarios. I have to get better. I'm working on it.

Hinata was an affectionate person. Or at least that's what he liked to think, anyway.

He had a warm personality. He genuinely liked people, he liked being around people, and wasn't awkward about showing when he cared (totally unlike a _certain_ teammate he knew). Normally, being a warm sort of person worked to his advantage.

It wasn't often that he was able to say he was totally at a loss as to what to do in a situation. But now... yeah, well, now was probably one of those times.

Hinata gaped, taking in the sight of Kageyama leaning languidly against the wall, one hand resting on the swell of his distended stomach. He didn't know what to say.

"Kageyama... what did you _do_?"

The boy shot him a glare. "Shut up, idiot! I didn't call you up here to gawk at me, so quit it!"

That was another really weird thing -- Kageyama had actually texted him to come up to the roof. Normally Kageyama wasn't really a texter, and he always did his own thing at lunch. Hinata had never really known where he went, but apparently he came up to the roof.

"Well?" Hinata cocked his head. "Why did you call me up here? And what's wrong with your _stomach?"_

Kageyama's gut was noticeably convex, bloating out beneath his uniform shirt and pushing down the waist of his pants. While one hand was rubbing slow circles over his bloated belly, the other was bracing itself against the ground -- to hold him upright, Hinata supposed. Only after noticing this did Hinata catch sight of the multitude of wrappers piled up to one side of the sprawled out boy -- chip bags, candy wrappers, packages of sweets, all of which had been emptied and disposed of to the side.

He couldn't help the wide grin spreading over his face. "You ate all this? Are you kidding?"

"S- shut up!" Kageyama was actually turning _red_ , as if embarrassed by his own gluttony. "I was hungry, so I bought a bunch of shit and ate it, only now... now I..."

As if on cue, his stomach gave a low rumble of digestion that had Hinata clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle a fit of giggles. "My stomach hurts," Kageyama finished flatly. "And it feels really... full."

"Well _yeah!_ You ate, like, an entire vending machine!" Hinata was making a valiant effort not to let his laughter devolve into full on cackling. "Geez, how dumb can you get?"

"Quit laughing, dumbass! It's not funny!" 

Hinata collapsed onto the concrete next to Kageyama, chortling helplessly. "It _is,_ though..."

Kageyama didn't reply for a moment. Hinata actually wondered if he had gotten fed up with him and had just decided to leave. Then he realized that with Kageyama in this state there was no way he could have walked away without Hinata hearing him -- if he could even walk at all. The thought sent Hinata into yet another fit of giggles.

It was only after his laughter had subsided enough for him to actually focus on Kageyama again that it dawned on him that the other boy honestly didn't look too good. He was clutching his stomach with both hands now, face contorted in a grimace; his chest jolted with a burp that he pressed into his fist, and his gaze was boring intently into the pavement. Overall he seemed pretty uncomfortable, and almost like he could be in pain.

"Hey, Kageyama? You okay?"

"No," Kageyama growled, though he still had that pitiful look on his face. "I'm not. If I were okay, I wouldn't have called you up here to help me."

Hinata wrinkled his nose in confusion. "H - huh? You need my help?"

"You were the only one I could call," Kageyama admitted, somewhat shamefaced. "My stomach hurts and I... I'm not sure what to do. I thought you might know."

Wow. So Kageyama had actually called him for help because he trusted Hinata's intelligence and --

"Since that stomach of yours is so stupidly weak."

Never mind.

Hinata let out an offended squawk, scooting farther away from the boy. "Well, now I'm definitely not helping you!"

"Hinata --" The name was forced out through gritted teeth, followed by a wince as what was doubtlessly another cramp washed over him. "Come on... please."

If there was anything you didn't expect to hear from Kageyama Tobio, it was the word _"please"._ It was probably right up there with things like _"I hate volleyball"_ and _"drinking milk is for losers"_ \-- it just wasn't a thing Kageyama said. For him to ask so blatantly for help, Hinata realized, his stomach really _must_ be hurting.

"Umm..." And the worst part was that the smaller boy really didn't know what to do. "Okay. Sure."

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he put his brain to work -- what helped him whenever he got a stomachache? Well, throwing up usually did the trick -- he really didn't want Kageyama to do that, though. _Maybe..._ sometimes Hinata would rub his own stomach, and after a while find himself starting to feel better. He wondered if that might work for Kageyama as well.

Tentatively, he laid a hand on the other boy's stomach. He felt Kageyama jolt in surprise; cheeks feeling unusually hot, Hinata refused to meet his eyes. Kageyama's belly felt tight and hard under his hand, packed so tight with food that Hinata was surprised he even had room to breathe. He let out a soft "huh" of surprise, beginning to massage in easy circles around the boy's middle.

At first, every muscle in Kageyama's body was painfully tense; gradually, however, he began to ease up. Hinata had to be doing something right, because he could feel the cramps under his hands begin to disperse, and Kageyama no longer ha an expression on his face that implied he was being touched by a particularly poisonous snake. He actually looked sort of... content. There was a small smile on his face (just small enough not to be scary, and nowhere close to one of his patented Hell Grins) and his eyes were beginning to droop a little as lethargy began to set in.

"Hey." Hinata pressed down slightly harder on the bloat of his stomach, and Kageyama hiccuped softly. "Don't fall asleep! I won't wake you up!"

"I'm not falling asleep, dumbass," restarted Kageyama; he propped himself up a bit higher against the wall, blinking drowsiness from his eyes. The characteristic scowl on his face made Hinata suddenly feel as if this situation were a bit more... normal.

"That's good," Kageyama muttered, and immediately that slight sense of normalcy flew back out the window. Kageyama _praising_ him? That pretty much never happened.

Still... if he was happy, Hinata couldn't be doing anything wrong, could he? "You feel better?"

"Yeah..." His head bobbed in a slow nod. "A little."

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Hinata pushed his weight forward on his knees and continued his even pattern of massaging. He still really wasn't sure what he was doing, and had no clue if he was doing it right; but he figured that helping Kageyama out, at least until the end of the lunch period, couldn't hurt anyone.


	39. stuffing/belly rubs - yamaguchi tadashi

"What did you think you were _doing_ , Yamaguchi?"

It's almost pitiful how the boy hiccups, muffling it into the back of his hand. He tries to push himself upright on the bench, fails, and just winds up sort of slumped over. The heavy bulge in his middle seems like it is weighing Tadashi down; with the amount of food he'd just eaten, Kei isn't surprised. "Why would you challenge Hinata and Kageyama to an eating contest?"

Tadashi winces. "They... asked me to join."

"Right. Next time a strange man offers me five dollars to climb into the back of his unmarked van, I'll be sure to take him up on the offer." Rolling his eyes, Kei swings open his locker and replaces his gym bag, pulling out his backpack from where it was slumped at the bottom. He feels irritated, harassed, and more than a little angry -- walking into the club room to find that not only had someone started up an eating contest in no more than fifteen minutes of his absence, but that his _best friend_ was joining in on eating himself stupid has not been the highlight of his day.

"I hope you can walk," he quips, aligning the bag over his shoulder and adjusting his headphones around his neck. "I'm going home. Come if you like."

"Wait, Tsukki!"

Tadashi flails like a turtle for a few seconds before actually managing to get out of his seat. By that time, Kei is already out the door.

...

Walking home is an experience.

Kei learned that after eating yourself into a state of semi-immobility, it's really not a good idea to embark on a long walk right afterwards. In fact, it's a fantastically bad idea -- this is proven in the first five minutes, wherein Tadashi makes a series of labored noises Kei is sure he's never heard before, struggles valiantly to keep pace, and burps no less than four times. (This wouldn't be so bad had it not been nearly nighttime, along a dead silent suburban street -- Tadashi's burps are sudden and loud. Kei also learns that he is apparently easily startled.)

By the time they've nearly reached their respective houses, Kei is sure he's on the verge of a nervous collapse. Tadashi... just seems ready to collapse.

"Tsukki, I can't -- ugh -- I really can't. Can we sit, for just a second?"

"No," Kei shoots back flatly and continues walking. He'd seen this question coming; Tadashi had been practically carrying his stomach for over half the walk.

He only gets a few more steps away when it dawns on him that Tadashi is not following. Somewhat shocked, he turns on his heel; he is dismayed, but unsurprised, to find the other boy sitting hunched on the curb, one hand pressed over his mouth and the other aggressively massaging his stomach through his shirt. It's a little bit painful to see, and more than a little sad. To Kei's own annoyance, he feels a stirring of that oft-hated urge to be a better person kindle in his chest, and he grits his teeth before he begins to stalk over.

He isn't going to let Tadashi off easily. Not by a long shot.

"Get up," he demands. "This is your punishment. You have to walk home."

"Mmm..." Tadashi shakes his head, mouth puckered; his face is distorted by pain. "I can't, Tsukki, I really can't... I can't walk anymore."

"You have to. Do you want to stay here all night?"

Tadashi shakes his head.

"Then get up. Come on." Kei sucks he inside of his lip for a split second before continuing. "You can come home with me, my house is closer. Just get up or I'm going to leave you here."

He doesn't mean it; he knows it, and so does Tadashi. There's something about the way the boy lifts his head and smiles at him -- tired, kind of pained, more than a little affectionate -- that leaves Kei's heart beating hard. "Up," he urges, extending a hand. "Move it."

He doesn't think he says anything particularly inspiring, but he must have done _something_ right. With a huff and a soft grunt, Tadashi hauls himself to his feet once again.

...

Kei isn't surprised by the way Tadashi collapses on to his bed as soon as they get upstairs -- barely even pausing to greet Kei's mom. When she asks if Tadashi will be staying for dinner he lets out a strangled noise, and Kei can't hide his smirk as he assures his mom that they had both already eaten on the way home.

"You didn't have to... do that for me, Tsukki," manages Tadashi from where he lies sprawled out in the center of Kei's bed. "You didn't even eat tonight..."

Frankly, seeing Tadashi like this takes away Kei's appetite for weeks; he says as much, flopping down in his desk chair and totally ignoring his homework in favor of cracking open his laptop. Yamaguchi gives a soft laugh that's cut off by a weak belch.

"Man, I feel full," he mutters, and by the shifting noises of fabric Kei can see in his mind's eye Yamaguchi's sun browned hands, moving gently over he distended curve of his belly. He massages slow circles over his uniform shirt, bony fingers kneading into the sensitive flesh; maybe his ministrations offer some relief, and his eyes close for a second of bliss...

Kei shakes his head roughly, nearly knocking his laptop off the desk. His brain is wandering, and he can't let it do that.

But when he glances over his shoulder, he's horrified to discover that Yamaguchi is doing exactly what he'd imagined. Fingers kneading into his stomach, the boy has a focused look on his face that reminds Kei of the one he wears when he serves; for a moment he just looks so cute, eyes narrowed and nose scrunched like that, that Kei is pretty sure he dies a little internally.

What is going on with him? His brain is in overdrive; his mind is working itself into a frenzy, just because Yamaguchi worked himself into... _this._

It needs to stop.

"You're doing it wrong," Kei says shortly, and this is all the warning he gives before he is suddenly flopping down next to the other boy. Tadashi makes a soft noise of surprised, but this goes unnoticed as Kei reaches out and promptly nudges Tadashi's hands aside in exchange for his own.

Touching Tadashi this intimately is... different. Kei is by no stretch an intimate person, so even being this close to someone else feels more than strange. His hands feel painfully stuff as he massages them over Tadashi's belly; his mouth is dry, and his skin feels like it's burning wherever the two of them touch. Honestly... whenever he'd imagined being this close to Tadashi before, it hadn't been anything like this.

 _This isn't weird,_ he tells himself over and over -- but it _is,_ and he is mentally freaking out.

After a painfully long moment of silence, broken only by the shift of fabric as Kei runs his hands along Tadashi's stomach, the blond is more than ready to just pull away and pretend that nothing had ever happened, ever. They never have to speak of it again. They never have to think about it again. And that would be a really good thing to do right now, because Tadashi is --

Keening.

"Ahhh..." The noise is half a sigh, half a whine, and Kei feels like he's going into cardiac arrest. "Mmm, Tsukki, that feels _good_..."

"It... does." Stunned as he is, he at least manages not to phrase it as a question -- he has to maintain some semblance of cool. 

"Please don't stop," murmurs Tadashi, just before hiccuping into his palm. The sound is so high-pitched, and Tadashi looks half-stunned afterwards; Kei can't help it before he finds himself chuckling against his friend. His chest shakes slightly against Tadashi's back, and he's surprised to feel the other boy lean closer.

"Do you..." He has to swallow hard, because he's pretty sure he's choking on his words. "Do you feel better?"

"Mmm... still really full, but yeah, I think I do."

Kei nods, chin just barely brushing Tadashi's shoulder. "Yamaguchi?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time you compete with those two idiots, make sure to beat them."

Tadashi chuckles, and it's one of the warmest sounds Kei has ever heard. "I promise, Tsukki," he whispers in reply, and Kei just catches sight of the smile gracing the other boy's lips before Tadashi tilts his head back to rest snugly against his chest.

It fits there, Kei can't help but think. Maybe it's a bit strange, but Yamaguchi definitely fits against him.


	40. weight gain - kozume kenma

Kuroo coughed into his fist, making a valiant effort not to stare at his boyfriend sprawled out on his bed while playing video games. He was fighting a losing battle.

It wasn't as if he got many chances to see Kenma shirtless to begin with. Even during their more intimate moments, Kenma sometimes preferred not to take everything off; any chance Kuroo had to see his body was a treasured moment in itself. It had been that way through high school, and needless to say college... hadn't helped.

In college, Kenma had stopped playing sports. In college, chances to see Kenma shirtless had decreased dramatically. Which was why Kuroo was reduced to his present state -- half slobbering over the way Kenma'a shirt rose up his chest from his position in bed, exposing the pale expanse of his abdomen and stopping just above his belly button. The exposure made obvious the way Kenma's belly hung out over the waist of his sweatpants, tiny rolls of chub rippling up his side.

That was another thing. In college, Kenma had stopped playing volleyball competitively; but that didn't mean he'd given up his lazy lifestyle, his gaming or his godawful diet. It had had... repercussions.

As far as Kuroo could tell, Kenma just didn't care. He didn't care about the soft layer of pudge that had developed across his stomach, the way his thighs had widened out and cheeks turned round and soft. He didn't care, but there was absolutely no way Kuroo _couldn't_ \-- and it was driving him insane. 

Kenma had always been beautiful. Chubby Kenma should have been downright illegal.

"Kuro."

Kuroo jolted in surprise, accidentally kicking the bottom of his desk and nearly overturning a lamp. " _Yeah?_ " .

"Stop staring," Kenma said. "It's weird. Do something else."

Kuroo huffed. He didn't have anything else he could do that would grab his attention the way Kenma did. His homework was finished, his laptop was dead, his phone was charging, and Kenma was _pretty as hell_.

"I'm hungry, Kuro."

Now. That Kuroo could do.

"I'm on it," he replied promptly, slapping the desktop in emphasis before jumping to his feet. Kenma watched impassively as Kuroo reached into one of the cabinets before pulling out a large bag of potato chips.

He tossed it to Kenma, who caught it with all the quick reflexes of an athlete. His eyebrows quirked slightly at the offering. "I don't need this much," he remarked, and Kuroo shrugged as he sat down next to him.

"We'll share, then. I'm terribly generous, you know."

Kenma huffed through his nostrils, something that might have been a laugh, before tearing open the bag of chips. Snatching one before setting the bag between them, Kenma turned to his game once more. Kuroo pretended to be focused on watching his friend play, but in reality all attention was focused on Kenma.

Kenma was an absent snacker. He always had been, but only now was it beginning to show. Without even realizing it, he progressively are his way through the entire bag of potato chips as he channeled all his attention into the game. Kuroo watched raptly; he studied every shift of his jaw as he chewed, counted the crumbs dusting his chin, and studied the way he alternated between hitting buttons and shoveling chips into his mouth.

So maybe Kuroo was a bit too fond of Kenma's new size. Maybe he was encouraging it a little more than he should be.

"Hey Kenma." Sitting up promptly, he twined his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders and pulled him against his chest. Kenma didn't look up from his game, merely settling back against Kuroo without hesitation. "You like college, right?"

"It's alright."

"You like being here with me, though."

"That's alright too... I guess."

"How harsh." Kuroo dropped his head dramatically; his gaze lingered on the subtle layer of pudge slowly forming just under Kenma's chin, and his heartbeat skipped.

"You... look kind of different lately, you know? You've noticed, right?"

He was surprised to feel Kenma's frame grow unexpectedly tense in his arms. The false-blond didn't look back, but the tonelessness in his voice said it all when he asked, "Does it... bother you?"

"Bother me? Hell no." Kuroo nuzzled his face into Kenma's neck, right where he knew his boyfriend was most sensitive. He was rewarded with a shiver, one of Kenma's hands coming up to run through his messy hair (this was a new thing, Kenma's fascination with his boyfriend's hair -- Kuroo absolutely loved it). "I couldn't love you more. I think you're gorgeous."

"You also think mackerel tastes good."

"Like hell it doesn't --" Kuroo drew back, mortally offended; then he caught sight of the small smile on Kenma's lips. He was teasing him.

Overwhelmed by a sudden surge of affection, Kuroo gripped Kenma by the waist, spun him around, and kissed him clean on the mouth. His boyfriend's lips tasted like potato chips, he realized with a shock of delight. For a moment, Kenma was stiff against Kuroo's kiss; then, Kuroo felt a tentative nibble at his lower lip, and he opened his mouth to allow Kenma entrance.

Some things had certainly changed, he thought, but only for the better.


	41. stuffing - aida riko

“Ooohh… I’m stuffed.”

Leaning back in her chair, Riko cast both hands over the swell of her stomach. A burp rolled from her lips unchecked as she pulled up the hem of her t-shirt down to try and cover the exposed skin; her shirt wouldn’t quite stretch enough. It was almost torturous, that little strip of skin, Satsuki thought. Through it, she could see the way the swell that had appeared in Riko’s stomach from her excesses over dinner was digging against the waist of her jeans, straining the fabric and obviously causing her girlfriend discomfort.

Satsuki was feeling pretty uncomfortable herself. Fingernails digging into the skin of her palms, she valiantly tried to resist the urge to reach out and touch Riko’s bloated belly.

Knowing her girlfriend had a habit of overeating her favorite foods was one thing; purposely making a dinner filed with all of Riko’s favorites and then enjoying it when she was round and full afterwards was certainly another. Satsuki bit down on her bottom lip, tearing her eyes away from her girlfriend. Riko sure hadn’t held back her appetite tonight; the table was littered with empty plates, every morsel having been totally devoured. Satsuki had left most of the meal to Riko, who’d been more than happy to eat it up.

Riko belched again into her fist, huffing slightly. “Ohh man, I feel so full… even my _pants_ are hurting me. I guess I really did eat way too much…”

Her hand glanced over the waist of her jeans, adjusting it over her round belly; Satsuki swallowed hard. 

“Cake!” she exclaimed suddenly, jumping up from her seat. “There’s still cake left, I don’t know how I could have forgotten!”  


Riko blinked up at her, baffled. “C- cake?”

Satsuki nodded eagerly. She wasn’t sure what she was more grateful for – the distraction, or the chance to see Riko eat even more (even though she honestly wasn’t sure her girlfriend could fit another bite of food in her stomach).

Hastily, she rushed off to the kitchen only to return a few minutes later, toting a small chocolate cake. She had gotten the treat from Riko’s favorite bakery, specifically for tonight; it was just big enough for one person to eat, and she intended to watch Riko enjoy every bite of it. Setting it down in front of her girlfriend, she beamed widely. Riko’s eyes flickered from the cake, to Satsuki, then back again.

“Ahh…” she tried, sounding nervous. “Don’t you want some too?”  


Satsuki shook her head. “It’s your favorite! All for you.”

Riko chuckled hesitantly, forcing a smile. “Wow. That’s so… sweet. Thank you.”

Satsuki settled herself in her chair again, and sat back with a smile on her face as she watched Riko take the first mouthful of cake. She hesitated for a second as she drew it up to her lips; then, seeming to square herself, she quickly swallowed it.

Once the sweet flavor hit her tongue, there was no going back. Riko ate with renewed vigor, eagerly tearing into the cake and obviously savoring every bite. Chocolate frosting stained her lips; her stomach groaned as she forced more food into it, protesting under the strain. She adjusted the waist of her jeans once, then again; the harsh red indents left upon her pale skin made Satsuki wince, but she was utterly transfixed by just how large Riko’s stomach looked.

Had either one been less occupied – Riko with the cake, Satsuki with Riko – they might have noticed the way the fabric of Riko’s jeans was straining. As it was, neither noticed until there was the sudden sound of a “pop”, and something resembling fabric tearing was audible in the silent room

Riko gasped sharply. Her fork clattered to the table as both hands flew to her waist. Satsuki’s eyes were practically popping out of her head, astonished at what had literally just happened. She couldn’t believe it, but the proof was there – a tiny silver button on the ground, and the front of Riko’s jeans torn open.

“My jeans ripped!” Riko half-squeaked, sounding mortified. “They – they just ripped, oh my gosh –”  


“It’s okay, Riko, it’s okay!” Satsuki had already grabbed Riko’s hands, keeping her from trying to piece the fabric back together; there was no mending the ruined pants, and they wouldn’t stretch enough anyway. “It was an accident!”  


Her girlfriend’s face was bright red, but Satsuki didn’t miss the flicker of relief in her eyes. “They were so tight,” Riko muttered, and Satsuki grinned.

(Of course Satsuki grinned – this was like Christmas and her birthday all rolled into one, and she couldn’t be more delighted by what she had just seen.)

Riko burped again, the sound hastily stifled into her palm, before she groaned. “Ohh, I feel really full… I don’t want to eat anymore.”

Satsuki nodded, still smiling, and glanced over her shoulder. The bedroom wasn’t that far away; surely they could make it. “I’ll help you,” she encouraged, and tentatively a still-blushing Riko slung her arms over her girlfriend’s shoulders. Together they managed to hoist Riko to her feet. The stuffed girl could barely stand, a steady stream of burps pouring from her lips as she stumbled down the hall to the bedroom.

As Riko collapsed down onto their bed, arms wrapped around her enormous belly, Satsuki couldn’t help but grin. Tonight, she decided, had definitely been a success.


	42. weight gain - iwaizumi hajime

Iwaizumi really was the idiot, for managing to break his arm in the library, of all places. Oikawa had laughed at him (once the original panic of _“Iwa-chan, accident, hospital”_ had subsided), teasing him that he was too much of a gentleman. Getting books down from shelves for old librarians was one thing; but overbalancing and falling down, bringing the entire shelf with him, was the type of failure Oikawa couldn’t help but laugh at. Iwaizumi bore the mockery with grit-teethed patience; it wasn’t as if Oikawa hadn’t done more foolish things before.

The best part about the entire ordeal was getting to take care of Iwaizumi. Oikawa was so used to being looked after by his boyfriend, mother-henned and guided to do what was good for his body. Iwaizumi was the one to remind him to sleep, to eat, to rest. Now Iwaizumi couldn’t even cook for himself, and Oikawa – loving boyfriend that he was – got to step up to the plate.

Cooking was the best thing, he thought, just because Iwaizumi always enjoyed it so much. It had taken Oikawa a while to get a hang of the stove, but once he’d managed he found himself wowing Iwaizumi with his kitchen prowess.

His boyfriend belched into his first, leaning back against the couch and massaging a hand over his stuffed stomach. Heaving a sigh, his eyes turned to Oikawa; a sleepily content smile spread across his lips.

“That was fantastic,” he said, and the praise made Oikawa preen.

“Ahh, Iwa-chan, you flatter me! Of course I’d only give you the best – after what you’ve been through, you deserve it!”

Shifting, Iwaizumi’s gaze flickered to the cast on his arm. “It doesn’t hurt tonight,” he muttered. “It’s numb.”

“That’s because I’m taking such good care of you.” Oikawa brushed a hand over his boyfriend’s jaw – a thoughtlessly tactile gesture he knew Iwaizumi appreciated.

The stuffed boy burped again, a light blush taking over his ruddy cheeks. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Oikawa loved seeing how burpy Iwaizumi got after a big meal – especially after eating something he made. It left him feeling like he was treating his boyfriend right. “It’s okay,” he replied in a light tone, shifting just the slightest bit closer to him. “You can’t excuse yourself properly in your pitiful state, so I’ll forgive you being such a brute – this time. If you were that rude around a girl, you know, they might get grossed out.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “Good thing I’m only around you, then. You don’t count.”

Oikawa’s squawk of offense went ignored as Iwaizumi stroked his good hand over the swell of his stomach. If he noticed Oikawa’s eyes trailing his movements intently, dark pupils boring into the small pouch of his stomach, neither one acknowledged that either.

…

Oikawa had to be losing his mind.

Loving his boyfriend was one thing. He would love Iwaizumi whether he was tall or short, fat or thin, smart or dumb, old or young. Nothing could change the way he felt for his best friend – not even years, arguments and losses that effected them both in massive ways.

Taking care of his boyfriend was one thing. Encouraging him – no, helping him gain weight was another thing entirely. 

Oikawa knew he shouldn’t be loving the effects his “caretaking” had been having on Iwaizumi so much; but it was impossible for him to deny the thrill that ran through him when he laid his head on his boyfriend’s stomach and felt it just a bit softer than before. Unable to work out as he had been, Oikawa discovered that without careful mantaining of his physical fitness routine Iwaizumi could pack on the pounds – faster than expected.

Oikawa got a perfect view of every change that had taken place in his boyfriend’s body over the past few weeks. Iwaizumi still needed help dressing himself, and Oikawa was more than happy to oblige. It was impossible to ignore the tiny belly that now spilled over the waist of his boxers, added chub that bounced when he walked. His sides were beginning to get soft too; his face was losing a bit of its chieseled definition.

And his _ass_ – oh, his ass was the best part. The delicious way his thighs had rounded out, how he now filled his jeans almost to the point of bursting out of them – it left Oikawa _melting_.

Iwaizumi hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary for the time Oikawa had been dressing him. The other boy considered this a small miracle. Sure, there had been a few complaints here and there towards the end of his recovery ( _“you did my button too tight, idiot,” or “these must be my old pants.”_ ) but overall Iwaizumi had remained blissfully ignorant of his own weight gain – or, he at least hadn’t commented on it.

Oikawa would be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting Iwaizumi to notice once he got the cast off. That’s why – on the very first day of his boyfriend return to mobility – the sudden shout of his name from their room didn’t surprise him.

Oikawa strolled in to find Iwaizumi standing in the middle of their bedroom. He had pulled his pants up over his thighs (just barely) but was now finding that the button refused to close over his stomach.

“My – my pants don’t fit,” Iwaizumi muttered, sounding stunned. “They shrunk.”

“They haven’t shrunk, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi blinked down at the button that refused to close – and the layer of newly developed pudge hindering it. He looked startled, and even a little frightened. “But – I –” he stammered; then, swallowing hard, he looked up at Oikawa.

“You knew, huh?”

Oikawa nodded. “I did.”

“I… I noticed it, a bit, but I hadn’t been working out… ah geez.” Iwaizumi ran a hand over his face, seeming conflicted between embarrassment and shame. “I feel like such a slob…”

“Oh, Iwa-chan, no!” In an instant Oikawa was rushing forward, throwing his arms around the other boy’s neck. “Don’t say that! You aren’t a slob at all! Your body is perfect, and I adore it just the way it is –”

“But I’m fat,” Iwaizumi muttered in a soft voice. His words were heavy with gloom, and it was all Oikawa could do to kiss his face and caress his cheek, while cupping his stomach in one hand.

“I noticed,” he said slowly, “and I didn’t say anything… because I really liked it. I like you however you are, but if it takes you a while to work off the pudge… I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Iwaizumi blinked at him, slow and thoughtful, as if trying to translate Oikawa’s words from another language. When they finally seemed to sink in, his lips twitched. The tension wasn’t gone from his face, but he no longer looked quite so miserable.

“You’re a cunning bastard,” he muttered, and Oikawa grinned.

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you guys have any requests for me, or even if you just liked the stories and want more, comment below!


End file.
